


Tabula Rasa

by Del_Rion



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Lack of communication (during sex), M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sexual Technophilia, Tony Stark ain't running a thrift store
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:46:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2526101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Del_Rion/pseuds/Del_Rion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier is en-route to figuring out who he is and makes a pit stop at the Avengers Tower, looking for a safe place to get a good night’s sleep. His host’s initial lack of trust is, surprisingly, mollified by the metal arm HYDRA gave him, and the Winter Soldier finds himself at a newfound realization that he’s a free man and as such he can do what he wants, when he wants, with whomever he wants. Tony Stark’s presence is simply convenient – or so he tells himself.</p><p><b>Written for:</b> <i>Marvel Bang</i> 2014.<br/>Also fills a square on my card on <i>Kink Bingo</i>’s round 6 (square: “mechanical / technological”)</p><p><b>Artist:</b> <b><i>Suku</i></b> (<b><i>sukuiddo</i></b> @ Tumblr / <b><i>allyoucaneater</i></b> @LJ) [<a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2484230">ART @ AO3 ♥</a>]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Entry Point

**Author's Note:**

> ****
> 
> Story Info
> 
> **Title:** Tabula Rasa
> 
>  **Author:** Del Rion (delrion.mail (at) gmail.com) 
> 
> **Fandom:** Captain America: The Winter Soldier  & Iron Man (MCU)
> 
>  **Genre:** Drama, erotica
> 
>  **Rating:** MA / FRAO
> 
>  **Characters:** James “Bucky” Barnes (Winter Soldier), J.A.R.V.I.S., Tony Stark (Iron Man). Mentioned: Steve Rogers (Captain America)
> 
>  **Pairing:** Bucky/Tony 
> 
> **Warnings:** Sexual content (M/M, sexual technophilia, hand jobs, oral sex, anal fingering  & anal sex), language. Implied: canonical violence, mind control & brainwashing.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Iron Man, Avengers and Marvel Cinematic Universe, including characters and everything else, belong to Marvel, Marvel Studios, Jon Favreau, Joss Whedon, Shane Black, Kenneth Branagh, Joe Johnston, Louis Leterrier, Alan Taylor, Anthony  & Joe Russo, Paramount Pictures, Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures and Universal Pictures. In short: I own nothing; this is pure fiction created to entertain likeminded fans for no profit whatsoever.
> 
>  **Beta:** Mythra (mythras-fire)
> 
>  
> 
>  **About _Tabula Rasa_ :** This fic exists because I couldn’t help myself.
> 
> Since the trailers of _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ first came online, I’ve been planning a story/series featuring Bucky/Steve/Tony threesome. Because I’m planning on writing other things first, that threesome has to wait.
> 
> However, after seeing _CA:TWS_ twice, the urge to do something with it _now_ became overwhelming.
> 
> So, here! Have this story while I sort out my writing queue and find the time to work on bigger projects inspired by the movie.
> 
>  
> 
>  **Chapters and statuses:** Below you see the writing process of the story’s chapters. If there is no text after the chapter’s title, then it is finished and checked. Possible updates shall be marked after the title.
> 
>  
> 
> **Chapter 1: Entry Point**  
>  **Chapter 2: Nightcap**  
>  **Chapter 3: Exchange**  
>  **Chapter 4: Thread Count**  
>  **Chapter 5: Breakfast in 10**  
>  **Chapter 6: Routine Maintenance**  
>  **Chapter 7: Stalling**  
>  **Chapter 8: Decamp**
> 
> * * *

****

## Chapter 1: Entry Point

There was an exhibition at the Smithsonian about Captain America and the Howling Commandos. 

Gazing upon a stand dedicated to a man with a familiar face and a name he’d been told to recognize, he felt something tugging at that fragile thread that kept fraying in his grasp yet simultaneously tearing open a carefully sown seam in his mind. 

_James Buchanan Barnes._

_Died in 1944 in service to his country._

It was the third time he’d stood there, looking at his own face, not recognizing anything but trying to remember nonetheless. After all, that man on the roof, the bridge, and the Helicarrier had been so certain… 

Steve Rogers aka Captain America, allegedly his best friend – a man who had been his mission, his target, yet whom he had saved from drowning and whose bloodied face now haunted his dreams. 

There were more names and faces in the exhibit, their lives as much a mystery to the passing crowd as they were to him. Rogers was the only one still alive, he thought – until another name caught his attention; he had seen it on the cover of the morning’s newspaper and now again as a member of S.S.R. – the Strategic Scientific Reserve. Not the same man, he realized, yet after a quick trip to a cyber café and a search on the internet he could tell both men of the same name were involved in Rogers’ life. 

He took a Greyhound to New York City that evening, lightly dozing on the way, getting some rest but knowing better than to let his guard down. 

Once in Manhattan, he watched the building for two days, keeping an eye on patterns and weak points, gathering intel in his head. He was getting tired without adequate rest but could not make his move before he was certain he could control the situation once he did. 

On the third day he caught a ride inside on a service truck, hanging onto its chassis and dropping down once inside, rolling into the shadows. For hours he avoided other people in the parking garage, checked the exits and got familiar with the vague floor plan bolted to the wall by the elevators. In each layout the top floors seemed almost blank, being private areas restricted from the common visitors of the building. 

Nine hours into his vigilant waiting, a gleaming sports car drove through the garage, headed for the private section. He followed it, slipping through the closing gates that separated that part of the garage from the rest. He lingered in the shadows as the car’s engine stopped and the door opened; his eyes followed as the single passenger of the vehicle – his mark – got out and began heading for the elevator. 

For all of his stealth, the other must have sensed his presence because he turned around swiftly just after calling the elevator, brown eyes narrowing at the sight of him. “Who are you?” the mark asked instead of the more curious ‘ _how did you get in?_ ’. 

He knew he had to play his cards right at this point. “A friend of Steve Rogers’,” he replied. 

The other man studied him carefully; clearly dropping the name of a renowned Avenger didn’t mean as much to this guy as he had thought. “What do you want?” he mark asked next, still not inquiring how he had gotten access to the garage. 

“A warm shower and a place to crash,” he replied. 

“Then go to a hotel,” came a flippant retort just as the doors of the elevator opened. 

“I can’t,” he said simply, knowing he was running out of time. 

A small sigh reached his ears as the mark stepped into the elevator then turned to look at him again, arms crossed over his chest. “A friend of Steve Rogers’, huh?” He spoke the words as if they tasted funny. 

“Yes,” he said shortly. 

“Got a name?” 

He hesitated longer than a person normally would have. Too long, apparently, because the doors of the elevator began to close and the mark didn’t do anything to stop it. So, he stepped forward, his left hand shooting forward to prevent the doors from closing completely, the mark’s stance instantly shifting from reserved to alert. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he answered the question, seeing as Rogers had claimed that was his name and the man who had been known by that name – a man who should have died sixty-nine years ago – wore his face. 

Or, he wore the face of a dead man. Didn’t matter. 

Clearly the mark recognized the name, too, but it didn’t change the alert look on his face. 

“You can call me Bucky,” he added. 

“Bucky Barnes,” the other repeated, his eyes slowly moving to the hand holding the elevator door pinned open; the hand and the minimal flash of metal visible from where his glove ended and the jacket sleeve began. A faint flare of recognition passed over the mark’s eyes and Bucky – he might as well call himself that – smiled and took the last step into the elevator, letting the doors close behind him. 

_“Sir?”_ a voice asked. Computerized, coming from the speakers, life-like but missing something to make it completely human. _Too_ perfect, perhaps. 

“Why are you here?” the mark asked, pressing a button and ignoring the voice from the speakers, casually moving his body away from Bucky’s. 

“I told you why,” he replied, leaning against the opposite wall. 

“There are people looking for you,” the mark stated, trying to stand taller than he was, to control the environment. 

“Why do you think I came here?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. 

“What makes you think I won’t turn you in?” 

“A hunch,” he admitted. “Your father would have given me sanctuary.” 

“I’m not my father,” the man shot back and snapped his fingers. “Stop,” he called out and the elevator came to a smooth standstill. Stormy eyes met Bucky’s. “You should be half-way across the country by now, in the aftermath of what happened in D.C. If not that then you should be with your BFF Rogers, sharing war-stories over a pint in a 40’s theme bar somewhere. Instead you’re in my Tower, in a restricted area – in my private fucking elevator – assuming that just because my dad used to work with Rogers I’m going to hide you under my roof.” 

Bucky shifted, resisting the urge to bash the mark’s head against the elevator wall. He doubted that would end well if even half the things he had read about this guy were true. “You fought aliens with Captain America,” he started, recalling the headlines he had browsed through while searching for information online. “You’re allies. I bet you know from personal experience that sometimes a guy needs a moment to get his act together. If you do this, Rogers will owe you.” 

The last part wasn’t entirely true, but the mark accepted it with a small huff and pressed the elevator button again, resuming their journey upwards. 

Bucky settled against the wall again, not wanting to antagonize the other man and make him change his mind. He needed a safe place to rest and while this place might not be it… it would do for now. If this guy wasn’t overly friendly with Rogers, he was more likely to keep his stay here a secret. 

They arrived at the penthouse a few moments later. Bucky could instantly tell the place had been built with no expenses spared yet it wasn’t tacky or ridiculously opulent. 

_“Welcome, sir,”_ the voice from before greeted, the tone still caught somewhere between a machine and a person. 

“Prep the shop,” the mark ordered. “Lock everything down and activate with my bio-signature only.” It was clear he didn’t trust his house-guest. Bucky didn’t blame him. 

If truth be told, neither of them knew who he was. He didn’t feel like he was James Barnes – or ‘Bucky’ for that matter – but since the events in D.C. he had been forced to consider that what he felt was a myriad of lies laid on top of one another, some of them so completely fused together that it was impossible to pry them apart. 

He might be Bucky and just not know it yet. 

“This way,” the mark told him and led the way down a hallway, past several doors until they stopped in front of the one at the end of the hallway. He opened the door and stepped inside, and while Bucky had thought it likely that he would be given a broom closet to sleep in, he instead found himself in a fully decorated guest room the size of a small apartment. 

He stepped in and looked around: a ready-made bed, an adjoining bathroom, a small sitting area and wide windows with heavy curtains to block the view. “It will do,” he decided. 

The mark huffed. “If you need anything, ask J.A.R.V.I.S.” Bucky guessed it was the name of the electronic voice. “I have things to do,” he added then, moving towards the doorway. 

“Thank you, Stark,” Bucky threw over his shoulder, watching the other man leave. 

“Whatever,” the mark rolled his eyes and closed the door behind him, leaving Bucky standing there alone. 

 

 

_to be continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
>  [...see all art here...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2484230)   
> 


	2. Nightcap

****

## Chapter 2: Nightcap

After sweeping the room and disabling several cameras, Bucky stripped and hit the shower. The water was hot and heavenly, and for some reason it felt like _freedom_. 

Since he had cut his ties to HYDRA and left an unconscious Steve Rogers lying on the shore of the Potomac River, he had felt the ever-increasing pressure of being on the run. So far no one had come close to finding him, but it was only a matter of time. His stay in the Avengers Tower would have to remain short, yet he found himself lingering in the shower, the simple sensation of clean water running along his skin luring him into ignoring the constant need to keep one eye open. 

He may have not been safe, but at least he had found himself a resemblance of a shelter. 

Once he tore himself away from the shower and dried off on a towel that felt like new, he regarded the heap of clothing on the floor. They needed washing but he had no replacements for them. 

Glancing at the room, he cleared his throat. “J.A.R.V.I.S.?” he said out loud, to test for a reaction. 

_“How may I assist you, Sergeant Barnes?”_

The rank was unexpected, throwing him off for a few seconds. “Tell Stark I need new clothes,” he finally demanded. 

There was a momentary pause before the voice returned: _“Mr. Stark would like to inform you he is not running a thrift store.”_

Bucky snorted. “Where is he?” 

_“Mr. Stark is currently in his primary workshop.”_

“Where’s that?” 

_“Two floors beneath your current location. However, you are not permitted to access that area.”_

That had never stopped him before. 

Securing the towel around his waist, Bucky went to the door and walked out, finding the nearest flight of stairs. He descended two floors before exiting the stairwell and searching the floor until he came across a semi-transparent wall. He could see some kind of lab on the other side. The wall was not made of glass but something thicker – probably a safety measure against any unexpected accidents on the other side. Even so, he could hear music, played loud enough that he could make out the words, and with a little searching he caught sight of the man on the other side. 

Tony Stark had stripped down to worn jeans and a tank top, his entire focus on a project of a mechanical nature. He was bent over a work bench and Bucky could see his fingers working between delicate wires. He watched for a moment, to find a pattern and figure out the project’s purpose, but in the end he did not truly care and opted to stare at Stark’s backside instead, spotting an oil stain on a visible patch of skin where the top was riding up at his waist. 

Deciding that he would be left standing there if he did nothing, Bucky raised his left hand and knocked hard against the wall. Between the metal, the force of the impact and the unyielding material of the wall, it made quite a sound – evidently loud enough to be heard over the music because Stark jumped as if someone had just fired a gun next to him, whirling around with a look on his face that almost made Bucky regret his action. Some unrecognized part of him knew that expression: dread and adrenaline doubled with a madly beating heart as wide eyes searched for a threat. 

When Stark’s eyes landed on him, a definite scowl darkened his face. He told someone to pause the music – Bucky could read his lips – then strode to the door, body still stiff and poised to fight. “What?” he snarled the second he opened the door, continuing to scowl at Bucky. However, his gaze soon moved from his face to his bare upper body, trailing all the way down to where the towel was clinging to his hips and then back up to his left arm. 

“I need new clothes,” Bucky repeated, not bothering to gesture at his half-naked form. He knew he had the other man’s undivided attention right now, although he had a hard time telling whether it was his lack of clothing or the metal arm that eventually wiped the scowl away, leaving only intrigue. 

“Do I look like a guy who has clothes lying around in your size?” Stark finally asked. 

Bucky shrugged one shoulder then reached down to scratch a minor itch in his balls. Stark’s eyes followed as if they were locked on target and the scowl returned. 

“I don’t know what they teach you in the HYDRA assassin school, but wandering around the halls naked is not considered polite,” he added. 

“There’s no one here but you and me,” Bucky noted. 

“Not the point. Also, I’m your host – rather unwillingly if I might add. Don’t piss me off.” 

Stark made a valid point and Bucky wasn’t yet ready to leave his temporary safe-house. “Fine,” he shrugged again. “No clothes.” 

It was completely incidental that his towel fell, right then and there. 

Stark looked down at him, rather pointedly holding a few seconds’ worth of a staring contest with his crotch. He didn’t blush or blink, the sign of a man well versed in nakedness and sudden changes in a situation. 

Seeing as there was no point for him to stand naked in the hallway outside Stark’s lab, Bucky began reaching down for his towel with his right hand – only to wince and change for the other one, once again reminded of his and Rogers’ battle on the Helicarrier. It was possible something was broken in his right shoulder but he couldn’t just walk into a hospital and demand someone to fix it. 

The metal hand grabbed onto the towel, slightly clumsier than its human counterpart. He struggled to return the towel to its earlier place, his right arm now tingling with hot daggers of pain, muscles and joints irritated by the undesired motion. 

He could feel Stark’s eyes on him, judging and measuring – then suddenly his hands were there, tugging the towel from Bucky’s struggling grip and fixing it into place with cool efficiency. 

“I’m not a hospital, either, in case you were counting on that,” he mused. 

“But you’re an engineer,” Bucky shot back, trying to find his footing again, to seize control of the situation. The fingers of his right hand were shaking slightly, his shoulder aching from deep inside, hot beneath the skin. 

“Yeah,” Stark agreed and looked at his face, then got side-tracked and gazed at his left arm instead. There was something greedy in his gaze, covetous and desiring, and Bucky had a strangely firm idea of what it was; had had it since he held the elevator door open and Stark got the first glimpse of metal. 

“So, as an engineer, you could take a look at my one arm,” Bucky stated. 

“Is there something wrong with it?” Stark asked and didn’t bother looking at his face this time, his attention drawn to the mechanical limb. 

“There’s always something wrong with it.” That wasn’t a lie, although he couldn’t remember most things about ‘always’. Still, in the aftermath of the latest battle – and the crash into the Potomac River – his entire body was in less-than-desirable condition. If Stark could provide even one kind of service for him, he would take it. 

The other man’s lips pursed briefly, eyes calculating. Pros and cons were being weighed on a mental scale in his mind. Eventually one won over the other and Stark stepped back towards the door of his lab, his body language less guarded. “Step inside, then,” he offered casually, and Bucky followed him into the workshop. 

Beneath his bare feet, the floor was surprisingly warm considering the area was highly industrial in nature. Inside Stark’s sanctuary, Bucky could see dozens of screens, most of them holographic, displaying information his brain had a hard time processing and memorizing. One wide screen seemed to be in the process of weeding through the information released from the S.H.I.E.L.D. database. 

“Sit down,” Stark ordered, shifting a stool with his foot, the wheels moving soundlessly on the smooth floor. 

Bucky did as he was told, adjusting his towel slightly, managing not to grimace as his right arm burned yet again. It pissed him off that the injury hadn’t bothered him for days, but then, those days had been spent on constant alert, his body prioritizing to focus on other things – which meant he was letting his guard down suddenly, lulled into a false sense of security in this place that shouldn’t have been any safer than any other location. He should trust Stark least of all, and after he had taken what he needed from him, he would move on. 

Stark moved around like a restless predator before pushing over a chair of his own, its saddle lifted higher to give him the perfect height to explore Bucky’s arm. “Scan it,” he murmured and one of the nearby holographic screens flickered and slowly built an image of Bucky’s arm, layer by layer. He didn’t see any actual scanning equipment – which made him wonder what else was hidden inside the space of the room. 

Before he could make a guess, Stark had leaned in and his fingers landed on the surface of the metal, running around it and across it, searching for damage or imperfections, his touch firm and unhesitating as if he did this kind of thing all the time. Bucky didn’t feel the touch, exactly, but his eyes followed it with more interest than usual; what little he remembered of other people touching the arm, he had never truly paid attention to their work. All that had been required of him was to lie still and let it happen, but Stark wasn’t a HYDRA scientist and the look in his eyes was almost worshipful – like he was dipping his fingers in the Holy Grail. 

Stark’s touch moved down to his forearm, then to his wrist, and finally to his fingers. Bucky twitched, just a little, but Stark didn’t stop and moved back up again – then picked up a tool from the table beside him and gave the arm a small electric shock. 

“Find the access points,” he said and certain parts of the holographic image were highlighted with two different colors, green and blue. 

_“Major and possible secondary access points marked,”_ J.A.R.V.I.S. announced. 

Stark’s eyes moved to the image while his fingers traveled to one such spot, another jab of his tool making the fine metal plates of the arm shift and grant him access beneath. “It’s not often that I’m impressed by something that wasn’t done by me,” he mused, eyes still on the image, “but this is some fine work. Nothing I couldn’t upgrade with enough time… How’s the fine motor control and feedback speed compared to your real arm?” 

“It’s fine,” Bucky replied, uncertain whether it mattered what he thought; as long as the arm had worked as a part of him, it had been enough. 

Stark nodded, prompted the metal plating to close again, then put the tool down and suddenly seized Bucky’s metal hand in his, turning it over and holding one finger at a time. “Diminished sensation,” he said out loud. “Minimal feedback and possible ghost sensations. They didn’t make this for detail work,” he decided. 

“It gets the job done,” Bucky said a bit defensively. 

“I’m sure,” Stark quirked an eyebrow at him, amused. “My armors have more integrated connections than your arm. A pity, really. I was kind of hoping…” He cut himself off, an almost dreamy look in his eyes. His hand was still resting on Bucky’s and with a little shifting they could have been holding hands. 

“It gets the job done,” Bucky repeated, moving his hand. “Any job,” he added and shifted to grab a hold of Stark’s junk, fingers squeezing enough to make the brown eyes widen in alarm. Bucky knew the line between ‘enough’ and ‘too much’, though, and the alarm on Stark’s face transformed into something that may have been categorized as _lust_. 

“Didn’t think that kind of stuff was part of your work description,” Stark murmured. 

“I’m a free agent now,” Bucky reminded him and adjusted his hold. Stark was getting hard, he could tell, but he had been right when he said the metal arm didn’t actually make him capable of feeling it. His eyes saw enough, though. 

Stark shoved his stool away from him rather pointedly, Bucky’s hold not enough to keep him still. “Want me to look at that other arm?” he asked. 

“You’re not a healthcare facilitator.” 

“I’ve had enough dislocated shoulders to know yours is not going to heal that way,” Stark deadpanned and got up, searching around his workshop until he found a roll of some kind of tape, then proceeded to administer it to and around the shoulder area so that the shoulder was held partially immobile, possibly to help it heal. 

At least Stark was smart enough not to offer him a sling. 

“That should do it,” the other man said as he finished. 

Bucky flexed his arm and the tape instantly reminded him to not do that. He suspected this was not a physician-recommended method of securing a shoulder injury, but when on a mission, one rarely had time to follow proper healing instructions. 

“Thanks,” he said, because that was an acceptable level of gratitude. 

Stark appeared thoughtful. Bucky gave him time to figure it out – whatever it was – sitting still on the stool and feeling like he was being evaluated even though Stark didn’t outright stare. The brown eyes kept slipping back to his left arm, like two magnets attracted by the metal. Either Stark wasn’t very good at hiding his interest or he didn’t bother to mask it. 

Seeing as he didn’t need to be the only one scrutinized, Bucky looked Stark over; the black tank top left his arms bare, specks of dirt on his skin making him look like a working man; the shapes of his collarbones were visible, a shadowy line drawn down between them, obstructed by the clothing before chest muscles became truly visible; worn jeans, stained by numerous different shades of color, hugged Stark’s hips and thighs just the right way, a sign of a cloth worn for its comfort and familiarity. 

Bucky wasn’t sure why, but he had a sudden urge to tear the jeans off him, just because of that familiarity; he’d never had that with anything he wore. Not even his left arm. 

It was an irrational thought – and had nothing do with the fact that he could see that Stark was still aroused, his pants settling tight against the length of his cock. He caught himself staring at it, remembering the ghost sensation of it. If he held it similarly with his right hand, the human hand, he could feel the heat, perhaps the pulse… 

“Seeing something you like?” Stark asked, snapping him out of it. 

Bucky raised his gaze yet made sure it was not quick like the reaction of a guilty man. “I could ask you the same,” he retorted and flexed his left arm just so. The motion immediately dragged Stark’s gaze back to it and the man looked almost irritated when he tore his eyes from it a second later. 

“I like sophisticated tech,” Stark defended his interest. 

“Wrapped around your dick?” 

Clearly that wasn’t the kind of reply most people expected – not even Stark. Then again, they had been doing this dance for a while now and Bucky knew interest when he saw it. 

It was odd: he didn’t know how he knew it, didn’t think it was part of any mission he had participated in, but the awareness was there and he didn’t second-guess it. He had a suspicion it came from the same place as that stab of emotion when he looked Steve Rogers in the eye. 

“Contrary to what most people would believe, not often,” Stark finally replied, slowly. It took Bucky a moment to remember the question. 

“But sometimes?” Bucky quirked an eyebrow. 

“Sometimes a man wants what he wants,” Stark shrugged, like he accepted it but could simultaneously rid himself of the implications just by doing so. 

Bucky didn’t buy it, and for some reason he wanted to pursue this. 

_Wanted…_

It was a strange concept, wanting something. It wasn’t like a pre-set goal, wanting to fall within the parameters of the mission in order to accomplish the task given to him. This was _personal_ , something just for him – like indulging a whim. 

The Soldier didn’t have whims. Not before he dragged Captain America’s unconscious body from the river when he could have just let him drown. 

Perhaps following his whims was what would make him his own man again; make him into Bucky Barnes – or someone else, he didn’t care who at this point. Something more than an _asset_. 

“Want a drink?” Stark asked suddenly, shifting his chair an inch backwards. “A nightcap,” he went on. “Ought to help you sleep.” 

“Do you want a drink?” Bucky asked in return. 

“Usually,” Stark flashed him a grin. It was shallow, though, not reaching his eyes, and it was gone as soon as it appeared. 

“I think I want something else,” Bucky ventured. He could be bold; no one was there to tell him what to do, or how to do it. There were no orders or guidelines – nothing was forbidden. 

“What’s that?” Stark asked, a bit more cautiously. 

He reached out with his left hand, grabbing onto the chair between Stark’s thighs, pulling it back towards him until their chairs bumped together and Stark had to spread his thighs wider since Bucky wasn’t going to. Stark didn’t stand up or lean back, though, holding his ground, and Bucky rewarded his attitude by sliding the metal hand up a jean-covered thigh, inching closer and closer to his crotch. 

Stark swallowed, eyes nailed on Bucky’s as if he were battling himself not to look at the arm. 

“I’m sure we can work something out,” Bucky told him. 

Stark didn’t protest. 

 

 

_to be continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
>    
>  [...see all art here...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2484230)   
>    
> 


	3. Exchange

****

## Chapter 3: Exchange

Stark didn’t protest, which Bucky took as a good sign; a _promising_ sign, with the possibility of cooperation. 

Bucky was aware of something stirring within his own body in response to the other man’s sexual excitement. It was a sensation he didn’t remember feeling before, yet it wasn’t unfamiliar, either. A ghost from his old life – the life he couldn’t recall, but which occasionally felt like it belonged to him anyway. 

A life where this had been normal, perhaps? Would Bucky Barnes have known what to say next, or do? 

The Smithsonian hadn’t managed to educate him on that front and he doubted it could have, either; this seemed like something deeply personal, which only he would know. Or, _the man he used to be_. It was confusing, and that must have shown on his face because Stark’s expression sharpened again and his hand moved, settling on top of Bucky’s on his thigh. 

“Do you even know what you want?” Stark asked. His tone wasn’t condescending or mocking, surprisingly enough. 

“Yes,” Bucky snapped at him. 

A frown met his sharp reply. “You look a little lost,” Stark observed. “I don’t think this is a good id–” 

The sudden pressure of his fingers around Stark’s private parts was perhaps a bit too tight, cutting him off mid-sentence. Bucky felt a tug on his metal arm, Stark’s grip attempting to remove it from its position, but he resisted. 

“I know what I want,” Bucky told him, although he wasn’t entirely sure. However, he wasn’t about to tell Stark that, and the way his own groin was starting to throb and heat up, he supposed he was going to figure it out soon enough. 

“Okay,” Stark said haltingly, looking a little twitchy. “Whatever it is you want, how about you lose the death-grip down there; I’m losing circulation, I think, and not in the sexy way.” His fingers tugged at Bucky’s metal ones, not urgently but with a certain familiarity, as if this weren’t the first time he got his junk caught in a mechanical trap. 

Bucky loosened the hold fractionally, then on a whim rubbed his fingers back and forth, like one might to soothe an irritation. Stark’s breath caught in his throat at that and he shifted his weight marginally on the stool, pushing towards his hand. “You want this,” Bucky observed, shifting his hand to press his thumb along the length of Stark’s hardened cock. The sensation was disappointing but his eyes drank it all in before he raised his gaze, leaving his thumb to rub in slow circles that were definitely undoing the last of Stark’s resistance. 

“Something like that,” the other man admitted. He looked a little flushed and his hips lightly undulated into Bucky’s touch. It couldn’t be entirely pleasant, the hardness of the metal, but he supposed that was part of the thrill for Stark. “What do _you_ want, Barnes?” Stark asked then, a little impatient. 

Bucky thought about it. There was data missing, most certainly, because he didn’t have a clear answer ready in his mind. Part of him felt like there should have been an answer – a flood of images and ghost sensations, memories and fantasies. He had instinctively known where to put his hand on Stark’s body to have the desired effect, and he guessed having the other do the same for him would be pleasant. Those hands that had worked to secure his injured arm and explored the mechanical one… 

Stark’s hands would be good, he decided. Better than a random pull of his own, whenever he had felt an itch before it passed a second later, like it wasn’t necessary. It hadn’t been _necessary_ until now, because now he could do what he wanted, and perhaps part of that freedom was the ability to ask for what he selfishly wanted to indulge in. 

Not knowing how to ask for it in a way that didn’t reveal just how clueless he was, Bucky reached out and grabbed Stark’s left wrist, bringing his hand to his crotch, pointedly pressing it towards him until it began to feel good. 

Stark chuckled. “Mutual masturbation, huh? Reminds you of the good ol’ times?” 

Bucky frowned, unsure what he meant by it. Stark didn’t elaborate, though, and Bucky let it go as irrelevant commentary. His lack of response had no effect, either, because Stark wriggled his hand and effortlessly slid his fingers beneath the towel, a calloused grip taking Bucky’s cock firmly in hand. 

The direct touch felt much better than pressure, and then Stark slid his fingers along the whole length of him, twisting just a little as if to see what would happen if he did. The throbbing sensation grew and Bucky decided he definitely liked it, which made him a little regretful that he hadn’t tried it himself. It had just never occurred to him that he could. 

“You look so surprised,” Stark mused, the tug of his wrist transforming into a light tease back towards the base. 

Bucky, who still had a hold of his wrist, squeezed in warning. “Shut up,” he muttered. 

“Are you sure you’ve done this before?” Stark went on, his fingers properly wrapping around him again. 

“What do you think?” Bucky growled while he enjoyed the light tug of Stark’s touch on the skin of his cock. 

“Why do you think I’m asking?” Stark noted and sat up a little, his hand stilling. 

“Don’t stop,” Bucky ordered and tried using his own hand to make him keep moving, but it wasn’t nearly as good. 

“Bucky,” Stark said sharply and used his free hand to grab onto Bucky’s right one, “I’m not sure we should do this.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I’m not sure if you’re really on board with this.” 

Bucky felt like punching him again – and rubbing his hard dick in his face because that should have been a sign that he was _on board_ with this. “Didn’t take you for a dame,” he huffed. 

“I’m trying to be a responsible adult,” Stark snapped. “Also, try to refrain from saying that to a woman because times have changed since the 1930s.” 

Bucky huffed and tried to manipulate Stark’s hand into stroking him again – unsuccessfully. It was starting to piss him off and he glowered at the other man, barely resisting the temptation to tighten his metal fingers around him until he did what Bucky wanted. “Didn’t come here for a history lesson,” he snapped then and curled his metal fingers over the top of Stark’s jeans, pulling him forward with a hard tug. The stool tipped and Stark hurriedly jumped to his feet before he fell down. With one of his hands still caught in Bucky’s grip, the other man was forced to lean on him to keep his balance. 

An irate look passed Stark’s features. “Let go,” he ordered – but failed to specify which hand he was talking about; the one at the waistline of his jeans, of the one holding his hand captive against Bucky’s cock. 

“Would you rather I let you fall?” he challenged. 

Stark snorted. “I’m not convinced you would know what to do with me on my knees.” 

That gave Bucky an idea – and idea he hadn’t previously considered. “Maybe I would,” he stated out loud and yanked Stark an inch closer. “Maybe if you do that,” he went on, “I’ll be extra… thorough with this,” he concluded, shifting the fingers of his left hand where they curled firmly against the other man’s abdomen, so close to what Stark wanted and yet not quite so. 

He could see the gears turning in Stark’s head. It didn’t take him half as long as most people to make up his mind, and it said a lot about his character and life experience that he demanded neither clarification nor elaboration before he began lowering himself to the floor and Bucky needed to release him in order to let him finish his descent. 

Bucky held his breath for a moment, feeling like he was in unfamiliar territory again. He had a vague idea of what was going to happen soon, but he could conjure up no real images from his past. It irritated him, the _not knowing_ , especially when his gut told him the ignorance was false and his stomach tightened in anticipation as Stark pushed the towel aside to bare his crotch. 

Brown eyes checked his face, briefly, as if looking for indecision. 

Bucky slid his right hand into Stark’s hair and pulled his face closer, to make a point even though he wouldn’t have known what to do himself. Stark, however, had no such problems: his eyelids lowered, a hand moving to grasp Bucky’s cock by the base, and then his lips were around him, tongue swiping over the sensitive head, and Bucky’s fingers tightened fractionally at the sensation. 

It was almost too much, all at once. At the same time, he wanted more of it – just like when Stark’s hand had been around him, making him feel good. His mouth was warm and wet, lips a firm pressure as he sucked, tongue dragging against the underside… Bucky shifted his fingers, rubbing them against Stark’s scalp, knowing he didn’t want to make a wrong move right now and give the impression he wasn’t enjoying it. 

Stark shifted after a while and pushed forward, taking him a lot deeper. Bucky felt the slight bump against the back of his throat, which caused a squeezing reaction for a bit. Stark’s breath hitched, his jaw flexing, just a hint of teeth pressing against Bucky like a warning before he opened his jaw wider and pushed forward again. 

Bucky closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation. He knew Stark was making an effort, taking his cock deeper than was comfortable and easy. It felt amazing, when the other man’s lips began nearing the very base of his cock, and Bucky had to give into the urge to watch. He wanted to reach down, to try and feel his hard flesh inside the other man, but he wasn’t sure he could and a wrong move on his part might leave him with teeth-marks on his dick. 

Stark’s eyelids fluttered, his face a little flushed. He glanced up, quick as lightning, then drew back a lot quicker than he had moved forward, a small cough escaping him before he was all the way off Bucky’s cock, a thick string of saliva sticking to his lips before being pulled down by gravity. 

Bucky moved his free hand instinctively, catching the escaping wetness with his metal fingers. He could not feel the slickness, but Stark’s eyes were instantly on it, his hot breaths caressing Bucky’s cock as he hovered an inch from it, his lips so close, open and inviting… Bucky wanted to use the hand in his hair to pull him forward, just as he wanted to smear the wetness all over his face and that immaculately trimmed goatee that was begging to be soiled. Those thoughts felt primal and he was happy to have them, seeing as _primal_ he could deal with. The Soldier had often worked under the most primitive of orders, following his instincts to reach his goal, and he felt at ease when there were only feelings such as these instead of flashes of knowledge he did not understand. 

He pushed his slick fingers along Stark’s jawline, his thumb shifting up to the slightly parted lips. His eyes could see the way the metal pressed into the plump, slightly swollen flesh before pushing forward. Stark’s tongue had felt unyielding against his dick, but against Bucky’s thumb it was helpless, pinned down when he pressed against it. 

Stark let out a small sound, little more than a loud breath, but it was not resistance and Bucky filed it away. He would have loved to go on, to have Stark suck his metal fingers although he could not really feel it – which would be reason enough to test whether he could push his fingers as far down Stark’s throat as he had with his cock earlier. If he did that, though, his throbbing length would be left unattended, and he didn’t want that. 

Slowly he pulled his thumb from the man’s mouth and simultaneously pulled him forward with the hand in his hair. Stark acquiesced willingly, suckling the head of his cock before taking in another inch, then another – whatever he could comfortably take into his mouth. 

It was good and Bucky itched to rock into it, but he didn’t want to upset the balance now that he was getting what he wanted and allowed his fingers to ease their hold on the dark hair, rubbing again, wordlessly trying to communicate his preferences to Stark. It worked, he noticed – and he also noticed the faint shiver that went down Stark’s body when his fingers pressed against his scalp in a certain way, so he tried to keep doing that whenever Stark sucked and licked him particularly nicely, finding a few spots that were swiftly becoming his favorites. 

Stark took him deeper a few times, but either it didn’t feel good to him or there was something wrong with the angle because he didn’t stay there. Bucky didn’t complain: he liked the rest of it just fine, the attention Stark could lavish at the head of his cock, and the way he rubbed against Stark’s tongue, the inside of his cheek or the particularly delicious brush against the roof of his mouth. 

When his pleasure began to tighten, anticipation coiling within him, Bucky grew a little anxious. He almost pulled back to fist his cock in his own hand, which felt like the thing to do in order to reach whatever he wanted to reach right now, but he didn’t want to leave Stark’s mouth either. Disappointed at the dilemma, Bucky shifted his left hand and curled his fingers against Stark’s jaw, feeling the faint bump of his cockhead through the skin of his cheek. He could almost rub himself like that, if he wanted to, but then he thought of something else and shifted his hand to slip his thumb inside, beside his cock. 

Stark definitely made a sound at that and stilled for a moment, as if to see what Bucky were doing. 

Frowning at the interruption, Bucky’s right hand urged Stark to keep moving while his left adjusted to gingerly grip Stark’s jaw while his thumb was still inside, poking at his own cock and giving it just a bit more contact. He pressed against the digit, shifting it up against the roof of Stark’s mouth, making the other man twitch. Bucky ran his tongue against the roof of his own mouth and guessed it was ticklish there. 

Stark slowly resumed tonguing and sucking his cock, trying to work around Bucky’s finger. Before long, Bucky decided adding his thumb wasn’t making things better, so he pulled it back out, sliding it along Stark’s lower lip. It was easy, then, to settle his thumb down against his lip and teeth, pressing his jaw down and give his cock more freedom to move in and out, Bucky’s hips instinctively moving to compensate for Stark’s restrained motions. It was limited, with Bucky still sitting on the stool, but he got an inch deeper when he pulled Stark just a little forward, rocking against the back of his mouth until he felt heat and pressure pulsing within him and his cock jerked, over and over, releasing his seed. 

It was mesmerizing and confusing because he felt like he should have _known_ that feeling, yet it felt like a breeze shifting cobwebs around in his mind, whispering and taunting. Bucky tried to follow the faint trail to something concrete, but then Stark’s hands came up to pull at his and he snapped out of it, pulling his thumb away and uncurling his fingers from his jaw. 

Stark sputtered and snorted, then spat out a mouthful of spunk on the floor between them as he fought to breathe. Bucky supposed he had blocked his airway for a moment. 

He let his right hand drop from Stark’s hair, fully intending to give him a moment, but it was too alluring to trail his fingers along a stray line of spit and cum on his chin, mixing it and making the mess worse instead of wiping it away. Stark eventually slapped his hand away and got up on shaky feet, reaching out for a towel on a table next to them. The towel was far from clean but it wiped away the worst of the mess. 

“Satisfied?” Stark asked him, giving him a look. 

Bucky shrugged his left shoulder and used the towel he was sitting on to slowly wipe his spent cock. Stark’s eyes followed the motion as he clearly waited for something, and Bucky remembered that they’d had a deal. Stark had done his part, so it was Bucky’s turn to return the favor. 

Letting go of the towel, he shifted on his seat, getting a bit more comfortable, and flexed the fingers of his left hand. As expected, Stark’s eyes followed the motion, and Bucky wondered what exactly it was he wanted the arm for. 

“Your turn,” Bucky stated. 

Stark swallowed, looking a bit uncertain but simultaneously coveting something he couldn’t say ‘no’ to. “How about we take this to the bedroom?” he suggested. “I’m too old to be fooling around in my workshop.” 

Bucky shrugged again. “It’s your show.” 

“Damn right it is,” Stark muttered, voice too low to be heard but Bucky’s enhanced hearing picked it up anyway. “Come on,” he urged then, motioning for Bucky to get up. 

He did, picking up the towel and slinging it over his shoulder as he followed Stark out of the workshop and into the elevator nearby. Stark selected the floor above Bucky’s room – one of the heavily restricted areas on the map – and the doors slid shut without a sound, the elevator moving up smoothly. 

Stark was visibly tense, clearly not knowing what to do with himself. Bucky figured he would come to a decision soon enough, but in case Stark had trouble making up his mind, he decided to help him along and shifted closer to him, naked body pressing against the clothed one – the metal arm sneaking around him and fingers curling around the visible bulge of his erection, forcing a sharp exhale out of Stark’s lungs. 

Bucky resisted the completely irrelevant urge to kiss Stark’s neck as he waited for the elevator to come to a halt, his fingers slowly kneading the other’s cock and balls, luring Stark to rock into his hand. If the rest of the night went like this, it would be over quickly. A part of Bucky didn’t mind that at all, seeing as he needed to get some sleep eventually and this weird dance with Stark hadn’t been something he had been planning on when entering the Tower. 

Yet there was a sharp, newborn thrill inside him that firmly believed he could draw this out. It tugged on a cord deep in his groin and made him rub against Stark’s clothed backside, just as his fingers pressed a little tighter, drawing a faint moan from Stark’s throat. 

Sleep could wait for a few more hours, he decided. 

 

 

_to be continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
>  [...see all art here...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2484230)   
> 


	4. Thread Count

****

## Chapter 4: Thread Count

When the elevator arrived at its assigned floor, it opened straight out into a sitting room area. 

Stark stepped forward a bit rigidly, forcing Bucky to let go of him. With a leisurely pace, Bucky took in the details – wide windows, simple furniture; further off was an open doorway leading to a kitchen while another, in all likelihood, led into the master bedroom. 

His companion was moving ahead of him, opening the bedroom door and disappearing through it. Bucky followed, cautiously checking out his new whereabouts. 

In the bedroom the furniture was even simpler than in the living room, leaving most of the room bare around the large bed. It wasn’t a four-poster bed with a canopy, which would have looked tasteless in the surrounding environment, but a low, simple thing of dark wood with a matching headboard fastened to the wall and a padded bench of the bed’s width sitting at the foot of it. Two doors on different sides of the room stood closed: one of them was a bathroom and the other most likely closet space. 

Bucky sat down on the bench, waiting. Stark was nowhere to be seen, but Bucky could hear him nearby and soon enough the man emerged through one of the doors – the one that did, indeed, lead to a bathroom. 

Stark’s face was clean once again and his hair looked like it had been brushed. The effort expended on the latter was a little pointless, seeing as they were very likely to mess it up again in the next half hour, which led Bucky to wonder whether Stark was a little nervous. 

“Nervous?” he asked, wanting to know whether his assumption was correct. 

Stark frowned at him. “It’s… been a while,” he stated, which didn’t exactly invalidate Bucky’s hypothesis. 

“I’m sure you still remember how it’s done,” Bucky noted. 

The other man’s frown deepened. He didn’t come back at Bucky with a _‘do you?’_ , which was a little surprising. 

Wanting to move things along – he didn’t like needlessly stretching out the anticipation – Bucky raised his left hand and motioned with his fingers. “C’mere,” he murmured, trying to make it sound like an invitation. He still didn’t know what Stark wanted from him, but perhaps there were ways to make it pleasurable for himself, too. He would like that. 

Stark hesitated for a spell – enough to make Bucky wonder what the hell they were doing here if the man was acting like this – but then he took a step forward and lowered his hands to undo the button and zipper of his jeans, pulling them and his underwear down his thighs in one motion. He bent over to tug them off his legs, and Bucky wished he could have seen it from the same angle as he had watched him in his workshop before entering – then noticed a mirror on the wall behind Stark and smiled, getting a good look. 

For someone his age, Stark was fit and quickly got rid of his pants and underwear, straightening again. His eyes checked Bucky, who was just a fraction of a second too slow to pull his gaze from the mirror, which Stark noticed. “Enjoying the view?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, some of his swagger returning. His erection had flagged a bit, cock now half-hard, and Bucky took the initiative to reach out for it – with his left hand, seeing as he had a feeling that was what Stark was after. 

“You have a nice ass,” Bucky replied indifferently. It was pretty self-explanatory and Stark probably knew that already. 

Stark hummed and shifted closer, one hand landing on Bucky’s right shoulder, staying there, doing nothing. It was a bit distracting, making half of Bucky’s concentration go towards it and not what his left hand was doing, eventually driving a soft hiss from Stark. 

“The pressure’s good, but don’t twist so much,” he told Bucky. 

Bucky felt like squeezing, just to make a point, but he fought off the urge and tried to do what Stark wanted him to, watching the metal digits slide up and down his length. Stark’s cock was cut, unlike his own, missing a layer of skin. It was aesthetically different and Bucky could see every little ridge and tested each of them for results. Stark was making a lot more noises than he had, his breaths louder. It made Bucky wonder if it was just for show, or if Bucky should have done more. 

“Hold on,” Stark said after a while and moved his free hand to stop Bucky’s. “I’ll get some lube before it starts chafing,” he explained and began to move away, but Bucky grabbed him, keeping him from moving. Stark gave him a look, already frowning, but Bucky forced him closer until he had no choice but to place one knee on the bench beside Bucky. 

Knowing what Stark thought they needed, Bucky held onto the other man’s waist with his right hand, keeping him in place, while he lifted his left from its place around his cock and raised it to Stark’s face. His lips were still plump from earlier, redder than usual, and the skin yielded beneath the pressure of Bucky’s touch. 

Stark’s eyes narrowed a fraction but he opened his mouth and Bucky smiled. Part of him wished he could feel Stark’s tongue on his fore- and middle finger, more than the distant echo that it was. To satisfy his curiosity from earlier, he pushed the fingers a little deeper, seeing how far they could go. Stark’s teeth made a sound as they bit down on the metal, and then his hands were on Bucky’s forearm and wrist, pulling his hand back. 

Bucky allowed him to do it, returning the now-slick fingers to Stark’s cock before he could speak up in complaint. He made sure not to twist and mimicked the pressure from before, increasing it just a bit near the head. It made Stark’s hips buck in his hold and a groan escape him. The sound was not that of pain, and Bucky tried to repeat the stroke in order to sample it again. He could hear Stark’s breaths and the other man leaned a bit closer to him, left hand landing on Bucky’s shoulder again, smoothing the skin and the elastic tape. His right hand seemed to hover, not knowing what to do, and his eyes were trained on Bucky’s hand on his cock, his expression a little greedy. 

The air between them grew warmer. Bucky could smell a faint aroma of sweat and the slick leaking from the head of Stark’s cock, adding to the slickness on his skin and Bucky’s hand. It was a strange mix that made Bucky’s cock stir all over again, hardening and arching up, so close to Stark’s body Bucky could almost feel his body heat. The hand he was still keeping on Stark’s hip clenched restlessly, and he thought he might as well enjoy this, seeing as Stark was getting what he wanted. 

Shifting his grip, Bucky curled his fingers into the meat of Stark’s buttock and yanked him forward. The other man swayed, hand tightening on Bucky’s shoulder before he set his other knee on the bench as well and straddled Bucky’s legs. The nearness brought Bucky’s cock within touching distance and Stark glanced down, probably guessing the reason for the rearrangement of his position. 

“You could just ask,” Stark mused and dropped his free hand between them, giving Bucky’s cock a firm stroke. “People tend to get a lot more accomplished when they cooperate.” 

“Never took you for a team player,” Bucky teased. He had seen videos of Stark and that attitude didn’t give him the impression that he enjoyed playing with others. 

Stark chuckled. “In bed, it’s a bit different.” 

“I thought you were a little rusty on that front.” 

“Just because it’s been a while doesn’t mean I’m _rusty_ ,” Stark hissed and pinched Bucky’s foreskin, making Bucky tighten both his hands in retaliation. As expected, Stark didn’t like that, but it was just to warn him against any tricks and Bucky went back to stroking him, knowing he didn’t want to sabotage his chance at another round. 

“How about I make you a deal,” Stark mused after a bit. “I’ll get you off again if you put those fingers inside me.” 

Bucky halted. He had a feeling Stark didn’t mean his mouth or something like that. Still, the appeal of getting off was substantial, and he supposed it couldn’t be that bad. “You think that’s safe?” he asked. 

“Trust me, I’ve had stranger things up there,” Stark replied and moved off him before Bucky could stop him. “However, we’re going to use lube for that part.” Stark moved around the bed, hands tugging off the tank top he had still been wearing, leaving his body completely naked. Bucky made quick study of his entire backside while Stark reached into the drawer of a nightstand and retrieved a small, unassuming tube. “Get on the bed,” Stark told him then, and Bucky moved from the bench to the mattress, finding it surprisingly firm under his weight. For some reason he had expected to sink right into it. 

Stark joined him on the bed, kneeling beside him. His fingers played with the tube of lube in a rhythm that appeared nervous to Bucky. 

“How do you want to do this?” Bucky asked, to move things along, and Stark snapped out of it, his fingers stopping to hold onto the tube. 

“Roll onto your back,” Stark instructed and gave Bucky’s chest a light shove to get him into position. Bucky didn’t fight it, seeing as things were moving in a mutually desirable direction. He even allowed Stark to tug on his metal arm and lay it out on the bed, his eyes following the other man as Stark opened the tube of lube, squeezed some out onto his fingers, then rubbed the slick substance onto the metal, coating the digit thoroughly. 

Capping the tube, Stark tossed it aside and shifted forward so that he was straddling Bucky’s arm. He got the idea but wondered why they were doing it in such a difficult position. Dismissing his concern about the logistics, Bucky shifted his hand and boldly searched between Stark’s legs until he located the soft spot of his asshole and pressed one finger inside. 

Stark’s breath caught, his body tensing. Bucky could feel it faintly around his finger – although he was fairly certain the sensation should have been much stronger – and he slowed down a bit, steadily pushing up until the single digit was within the other man’s body as far as it would go. 

“This would be easier if I could see what I was doing,” Bucky pointed out. 

“Just… stay like that for a moment,” Stark ordered and leaned forward over Bucky’s abdomen. “Fuck,” he murmured, the exhale of the word blowing air over Bucky’s hardening cock. Suddenly the position didn’t seem so bad after all – not when Stark shifted to the side and licked a bold stripe along the throbbing flesh, mouthing his balls briefly before traveling back up, his beard making Bucky’s dick itch for more. When Stark’s fingers moved to circle the base, the feeling was almost familiar from before – just like the first touch of Stark’s lips and tongue, welcoming Bucky’s dick back into his mouth. 

Bucky found that he actually had to concentrate; he needed to hold his hand still, but with his hips yearning to buck up and get himself all the way into Stark’s mouth, it was like being pulled by two opposing forces. 

Stark sucked him, head moving up and down, getting him to harden the rest of the way. Perhaps the position was better or Stark was getting more into it, because Bucky noticed how his cock sank so much deeper in his mouth, past the rippling, squeezing barrier and into his throat. His eyes fixated on the spread lips and the remaining inch the other man’s fingers massaged before he shifted again and took Bucky all the way in, to the very root. 

It made him groan, deep from within his chest. There was no point jerking up because there was no place further that he could go. His thighs felt like cramping as he held his legs still, muscles flexing, eyes unblinking as he watched Stark slowly rise up again and take a steady breath as he got his mouth free of his cock. Brown eyes checked Bucky’s face, a pink tongue licking the wet lips, and then Stark shifted his hips, reminding Bucky of the other thing he was supposed to be doing. 

He moved his finger, shifting it inside Stark’s body, and he must have done something that was either very good or very bad because the other man started and moaned. 

“Keep doing that,” Stark told him. 

Good it was, then. 

Bucky kept it up, glad that his metal hand didn’t tire like his real one would have. The strain of the position didn’t affect him and he found sort of a circling motion that worked for them both, the range of motion growing a bit easier after a while. Stark’s hips shifted to meet his finger, his legs spreading a bit wider on the bed, and Bucky shifted his other fingers, angling the middle one to join the forefinger already inside Stark’s ass. 

The lube helped, he was sure. Stark hissed at the intrusion and stopped moving, but he didn’t protest. Rationally, Bucky knew that what they were doing was dangerous because he couldn’t really control his strength like this and could turn pleasure into a bloody mess in a matter of seconds. 

He kept his fingers pressed together, mimicking that churning motion from before, and Stark was panting soon after, leaning over his crotch and licking and sucking on his cock, not taking it in for several more minutes. Bucky wanted to yank his hair and make him take him to the root like before while he had his fingers inside him, but he still wanted no tooth-marks on his dick and it looked like Stark was having a bit of trouble focusing. 

“Fuck, that’s good,” Stark panted into his skin, hips jerking against his hand, grinding down, and Bucky debated adding another finger. He wasn’t sure it was a good idea, though, and slid his free hand to his cock instead, fisting it and tapping it against Stark’s lips, getting him to suck the head. 

Bucky was starting to feel his pleasure climbing towards the satisfying end when Stark suddenly pulled off him and moved his hips up, Bucky’s fingers sliding out of him. Stark’s lips tightened as he arched his back and moved his weight to his left buttock, his right leg still stretched over Bucky’s metal arm. 

“What?” Bucky asked, a little irritated. 

“Nice as they are,” Stark said, nodding towards the metal fingers, “I’m not sure I thought this through.” 

“Meaning?” Bucky demanded and kept sliding his right hand along his cock because clearly Stark wasn’t going back to sucking it anytime soon. 

Stark’s eyes followed the motion for a bit before he shrugged. “My prostate is going to feel like one giant bruise tomorrow, if you catch my drift.” 

“Told you it wasn’t a good idea,” Bucky muttered. 

“It was a great idea,” Stark told him snappily. “I would just prefer to stop while it’s still fun.” 

Huffing with disappointment, Bucky continued to yank on his cock, trying to bring himself to the finish line faster. Focused on his task and feeling like he had done his part, he didn’t expect Stark to lay a hand on top of his and stop him. With a growl, Bucky glared at him. 

Stark had the audacity to raise an eyebrow at him as if Bucky were amusing, somehow, and once again Bucky battled the urge to smash his fist in his face and walk out. “There’s no need to rush,” Stark told him. 

“I gave you what you wanted,” Bucky informed him. “I can rush if I want.” 

“Or,” Stark said slowly, “we could both take our time and find something mutually enjoyable to wrap this up.” 

“Such as?” 

A faint purse of lips met his question. It looked like an invitation, although Bucky wasn’t sure he should follow it. “What’s your stance on fucking me?” 

Bucky tried not to frown, in case it would betray his confusion. His brain supplied no ghost images to help him figure out what exactly the other meant, but clearly he was supposed to have an opinion and Stark was waiting for his reply. He must have given some kind of reaction, though, because Stark shifted suddenly, getting onto his knees and looking like he was going to leave the bed. 

His hand shot out before he could help it, metal fingers squeezing hard around Stark’s upper arm. “I didn’t say no,” he spat out, deciding that even though he didn’t know what was going to happen, he had enjoyed the other things they had done and he could always stop and leave if he didn’t like what came next. 

“No, you didn’t,” Stark replied slowly and moved closer to him. His movements were cautious, like he was aware that Bucky was seconds away from either fighting or fleeing – even with the hand still holding onto Stark’s arm, the last of the lubricant making his grip a little slippery and forcing him to squeeze harder to compensate. 

Stark slid his left thigh over Bucky’s legs and then inched upwards, straddling his waist. Bucky moved his right hand out of the way, frowning, trying to guess the next part. 

“Do you even know what I’m suggesting?” Stark asked, stilling, and gave a quick glance at the metal gripping his arm but not complaining about it yet. 

Bucky ground his teeth, not wanting to answer. _Not knowing_ was a weakness and he wasn’t about to give Stark the satisfaction of having a leg up on him, so to speak. Still, his silence was a sufficient answer for the other man, who pursed his lips again; less like an invitation this time, coupled with the crease between his eyebrows. A soft sigh followed – and a slow roll of his hips on top of Bucky’s, his cock trapped between their bodies, delivering some nice friction. 

“Ring any bells yet?” Stark asked after a while, his motions becoming deliberate. 

Bucky wondered what piece of information he was missing, then ignored the question and focused on rocking his own hips, making the motions a little better, Stark’s skin warm against his. He quickly found certain things worked better than others, and he moved his hands to grab onto Stark’s hips, to move him a little higher, the soft valley of his buttocks a perfect design to give him pleasure. 

It clicked, suddenly, like the clip being inserted into a gun. Phantom figures like shadow puppets played in tangled forms against the light switched on in his brain, muffled sounds panting in his ears, rough laughter echoing off the dusty walls… 

His dick jerked and his metal hand surged up, taking Stark by the throat and pulling him to the side. He rolled to follow, right arm throbbing with sudden pain as he used it to push Stark’s lower body into the mattress, then sank his weight between his spread legs. Stark gasped, hands rising to the metal arm still holding his throat, and Bucky lessened his hold, letting him breathe. 

With Stark preoccupied trying to draw air into his lungs, Bucky took himself in hand and followed the newborn instinct in his mind, guiding his cock to Stark’s ass. He could see the glistening of lube from before, the faint redness on the swollen entrance from his bionic fingers, and he drank in the sight of the first press of his cockhead against it. 

He hadn’t felt the muscles before; the hot squeeze around his flesh was maddening, almost making him want to draw back and stick the fingers of his right hand in there, to feel what his metal ones could not. There was a resistance, as if Stark didn’t want him inside after all, and he had to push to get past it. 

“Shit,” Stark hissed, a little breathless. Bucky glanced up at him, making sure he wasn’t squeezing his neck too hard. The other man groaned, legs twitching, and as Bucky pushed again, Stark’s body tensed, halting his progress. 

“Relax,” Bucky told him. The squeeze around his cock was bordering on painful. He could get off on it, he was sure, but it felt like that wasn’t the point of this exercise. 

“Fuck you,” Stark hissed and shifted again, grimacing as he did. “Anyone ever tell you about a thing called ‘prep’, or did it not exist in your day?” 

Bucky frowned. “I already had my fingers in there.” 

Stark wheezed out a sound that may have been a laugh, and Bucky moved his fingers from his throat, placing the hand against the bed to support his weight as he leaned in a little and tried pushing forward again. He got a bit deeper and closed his eyes as Stark’s body fought against relenting its desperate grip. 

“Okay,” Stark finally grunted and shifted his legs a little higher, thighs brushing against Bucky’s sides. One of his hands moved between them to grasp his own cock. “Move,” he told Bucky, who wasn’t sure what had changed but wasn’t about to ask for directions: he inched back, then thrust forward, doing that a few times to wear out the resistance. Pushing harder made Stark let out a strangled groan, like he couldn’t decide if it hurt more than he could take. Stark was a big boy, though: he could decide whether it was too much, and until he did, Bucky was going to keep chasing the tide he felt rising deep inside him, so much better than the last. 

It was easy to get lost in it, for a few minutes. He didn’t think of running and hiding, or of his lost identity. He didn’t worry about who James Barnes was, or what he had been – or what would happen when Steve Rogers caught up with him again. All the things that had been troubling him floated away, and while it was dangerous to let his guard down, he felt truly free for the first time in his life. He hadn’t expected to discover such a feeling with another person panting beneath him, and he thought he ought to thank Stark for it. 

After a good, solid thrust as deep as he could get, Bucky moved his knees under him and sat up, hands grabbing onto Stark’s hips to drag him along. The motion drew a sharp groan from the other man, but Bucky was already letting his left hand slide from Stark’s hip to his cock, pushing away Stark’s hand and fisting the flesh hard as he started thrusting again. 

For all his pained sounds and the way his body still didn’t fully yield to the intrusion, Stark came undone in minutes as Bucky pulled on his cock with the unyielding grip of the metal fingers. Stark twisted and moaned as he got close, then bucked his hips and hissed a sharp ‘yes’ as he came, his ass almost squeezing Bucky’s release right out of him. 

As the other man panted, Bucky wiped his stained hand on the covers. His hips yearned to thrust again, to drive him the rest of the way to his completion. He waited, though, as if some part of him knew he should not be hasty. Stark eventually started to relax, inside and out, and Bucky smiled and leaned forward, then started moving again, in and out, sharp and hard, chasing the elusive thread until he seized it and rode it out against the pliant grip of the other man’s body. 

Their faces were close to each other when Bucky started to come, Stark’s eyes wide and dark, lips open as he breathed hotly against Bucky’s skin. Bucky knew he could have kissed him – could have gotten away with it – but he groaned loudly instead at the blissful feeling shooting up his spine and dragged his face down, biting down on Stark’s skin at his shoulder. 

Stark growled weakly an instant before Bucky tasted copper on his lips. Short nails dug into the back of his neck in warning, and Bucky swiped his tongue across the small wounds on the skin he had inadvertently caused, then sucked on the spot viciously, making Stark squirm and squeeze around his dick for one last time, milking the last of his cum out of him. 

“Asshole,” Stark muttered when Bucky pulled back, easing out of his body as gently as he could. 

“You’re one to talk,” Bucky shot back and rolled onto the bed beside the other man, steadying his breathing. For the first time since D.C. he felt like he could actually sleep instead of keeping himself half-awake, napping for minutes at a time, ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice. His body felt heavy and relaxed, and the sheets were sinfully soft. 

Stark elbowed him before he could drift off, and Bucky’s instinctive reaction was to punch his teeth out for disturbing him. The other man evaded his lazy blow, however, leaning away and scooting to the edge of the bed. “Come on,” he demanded then, giving Bucky’s ankle a firm shake. “Get cleaned up.” 

Bucky grunted, unhappy but knowing that he could benefit from a quick wash. As he tried to make up his mind between moving or just lying there on the bed, he heard Stark move around in the bathroom: running water, the quiet sputter of a plastic bottle, and the soft sounds of towel on skin. Said towel soon landed on his face and Bucky sat up, forcing himself up and into the bathroom as Stark padded back to the bed. 

The shower stall was spacious. Bucky decided on a shower instead of a quick wash at the sink, to clean himself properly, and briefly considered the elastic tape on his right shoulder. A few pieces had definitely suffered from their latest activities, but most of them were still firmly attached to his skin and he decided to let them be. 

Stark had a row of products lined up on several shelves and Bucky went through some of them, sniffing and checking labels. He ended up using body wash that actually smelled quite nice, then rinsed and stepped out of the shower, using the same towel as Stark had. He hung it up to dry inside the bathroom, though, seeing as there was a specific rail for it there, and stepped back into the bedroom. 

Half the sheets had been changed while he was in the shower. The old ones were in a heap beside the bench at the end of the bed, waiting for another time to get cleaned. The room was also darker than it had been, lights set on dim, and Stark lay in bed, back to the bathroom door, clearly about to go to sleep. 

Bucky could have easily taken himself back to the elevator and down to his own room, but there was a perfectly good bed right here. The sheets, when he ran his hand along them, were just as soft as the last ones. It could be the ones in his room were just as nice, but he wasn’t about to chance it. 

Pulling up the edge of the covers nearest to him, he swiftly slid beneath them and onto the bed, finding the space pleasantly warmed by the other body already in there. 

“What are you doing?” Stark asked, still awake. 

“Going to sleep,” Bucky told him and settled down. 

“I gave you a room of your own,” the other man reminded him. 

“This bed is closer,” Bucky stated and inched towards the source of the warmth between the sheets. After all, his own bed might be just as nice, but it was missing Stark’s sweaty body, and strangely enough… Bucky knew which he would prefer tonight. 

He had never wanted company before – not that he remembered. There had been a sense of safety in solitude, other people being a distraction and a problem he had to deal with, eventually. They slowed him down and if they didn’t serve a purpose, he would rather get rid of them. 

A good thing, then, that Stark had been of use to him. 

“J.A.R.V.I.S., lights off,” Stark murmured, giving in. 

_“Yes, sir,”_ the AI replied and the room went dark around them. 

Bucky closed his eyes but remained awake, his mind counting Stark’s breaths and calculating every little shift until the other man stilled, his breathing deepening, and finally he was certain he was asleep. That was when Bucky relaxed, too, and allowed his mind to sink into the blank state of sleep. 

 

 

_to be continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
>  [...see all art here...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2484230)   
> 


	5. Breakfast in 10

****

h2>Chapter 5: Breakfast in 10

Bucky stirred to the sounds of a sleepy cough and shifting from beside him. A weight briefly pressed against him before rolling away, as if his bed-partner suddenly remembered he wasn’t alone. 

Opening his eyes, he regarded Stark sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at him with a head of tousled hair and a frown already on his face. Whatever puzzle he was working to solve was clearly giving him trouble, and eventually he huffed and stood up, opening the door of the walk-in closet and fishing out a pair of underwear, sweats, and a t-shirt. 

“Gonna lie there all day?” Stark asked once he was done dressing. 

Bucky rolled onto his back, sat up, and threw the covers to the side, revealing his nude form. 

The frown returned to Stark’s face. 

“I don’t have any clothes,” Bucky reminded him of his dilemma from last night. 

With narrowed eyes, Stark turned and reached back into the closet, then tossed a pair of underwear at Bucky – clearly aiming for his face but landing them on his chest instead. “Breakfast will be ready in ten,” he stated almost angrily and walked out of the room, leaving Bucky to wriggle into his borrowed underwear and use the bathroom. 

Bucky debated just leaving when he finished flushing the toilet, but he could smell toasted bread and coffee when he exited the bedroom and turned towards the kitchen area instead, finding Stark browsing through headlines on a wide holographic screen while a coffeemaker hissed in completion on a counter near him. At a glance, the kitchen looked very high tech, and Bucky wondered if most of the functions were automated and controllable by Stark’s AI. He got his answer soon enough: 

_“The coffee is ready, sir – as is the toast,”_ J.A.R.V.I.S. informed just as the toaster finished. 

Stark hummed in response and turned away from the screen, stepping over to a door at the end of the counter. It looked just like the other modern surfaces, yet it revealed a fridge and not a cupboard. Reaching in, he pulled out several items to make a sandwich, then closed the door again. 

Bucky watched as the other poured himself coffee, pulled the pieces of toast out of the toaster, and laid them out on a waiting plate. Instead of going for the butter, cheese, or deli meat, Stark opened a plastic container and pulled out several slices of some kind of green vegetable or fruit and placed them on the toasts. “What the hell is that?” Bucky asked, pointing. 

“Never seen an avocado before?” Stark asked, raising an eyebrow. “It’s good for you.” 

Scrunching up his nose, Bucky highly doubted it – but he was hungry and so he snatched both pieces of toast, pressed them together with the avocado slices in the middle and took a big bite. It wasn’t tasty, but it was food, and the open-mouthed look Stark gave him was definitely worth it. 

“In case you didn’t notice, that was for me,” Stark pointed out finally – simultaneously shifting his coffee cup away from Bucky as if he thought he would go for that next. 

“I’m hungry,” Bucky shrugged his shoulder; it was his right one, instantly aching a little in response. “Should have made more,” he said then, finishing chewing and taking another bite, eating mechanically. 

“What are you, five?” Stark muttered and turned away from him, getting another two slices of toast from a bag and dropping them in the toaster, pressing down the lever. 

Bucky didn’t reply, focused on eating. “I don’t think I like avocado,” he decided finally. 

Stark turned his head, scowling at him. “Then why the hell would you steal my food?!” he snapped. 

“Why do you eat this?” Bucky asked, dismissing the other man’s attitude. 

“I told you why,” Stark deadpanned. 

“But you don’t need it,” Bucky motioned at him with what was left of the sandwich, then went on eating it since he was hungry and he wasn’t sure if he was going to be given anything else to eat. 

Stark scoffed and looked away, swiftly picking up the new slices of toast as they became ready, making sure to keep the plate and the last of the avocado slices out of Bucky’s reach, as if thinking he wanted more. Still, some of the tension vanished from his shoulders as he registered the half-hearted attempt at a compliment – which Bucky most certainly had no reason to give in the first place. 

“I’ll be going down to the shop now,” Stark informed him once he had finished preparing his breakfast. “Don’t come disturbing me again before you’ve found some clothes – and preferably not then, either,” he added, turning towards Bucky with the coffee cup and sandwich plate in his hands. He kept his gaze kept away from Bucky’s left arm, as if he might change his mind if he looked straight at it. 

“I don’t have any clean clothes,” Bucky reminded him. 

“Then wash the ones you have,” Stark retorted and walked out. 

Bucky was fairly certain there was no re-visiting the subject. 

* * *

J.A.R.V.I.S. helped him with the washing, telling him where to find the closest washing machine and giving him instructions on how to operate it. The AI made a disapproving sound when Bucky flung all his dirty clothes into the machine at once but did not stop him. 

_“Some of your clothing might have benefited from being washed separately,”_ the AI stated one the machine was working and the timer said Bucky had to wait 28 minutes until it was done. 

“Don’t care,” Bucky replied, leaning against a wall, feeling mildly cold in just the pair of underwear Stark had thrown at him. 

The next 27 minutes went by in silence until the washing machine was done and Bucky opened it, spreading the wet clothes out to dry on available surfaces, seeing as he didn’t see clotheslines anywhere. J.A.R.V.I.S. made a comment that some of his clothes could be put in ‘the dryer’ – which probably was the machine sitting beside the washing machine – but Bucky had never used one before and didn’t see why he needed to now, either. 

He had time to kill, again, and he wasn’t sure what to do. Watch the clothes dry? 

With pursed lips, Bucky sat on top of a counter, debating his possibilities, which were not many. He could go to his room or wander the halls, but just the same he could stay here until he could put on the clothes and… what then? 

He would leave; that was the main goal. His stay at the Avengers Tower had always been meant to be a short one. He had caught up on sleep, cleaned his clothes, and had even stolen a bite to eat. 

At the memory of sandwich, his stomach growled. He didn’t often feel hunger, too focused on what he was assigned to do. Right now, he wasn’t assigned to do anything, though, and not for the first time since the events in D.C. did he feel restless and edgy. He was lacking a purpose. 

Fleetingly he wondered if everyone else felt like they should have a purpose, or whether it was just him and the things HYDRA had programmed him to do. 

Programmed… 

His left hand clenched and the countertop gave an ominous _crunch_ as the metal fingers burrowed into it. 

He didn’t have a whole lot of memories of that time, but the flashes came and went, like flippant dreams giving him the finger and laughing ominously when he failed to understand them. Like the man on the bridge… He had a name to go with the face, but the name didn’t match the feeling that had stirred within him, brief and feeble. 

Bucky didn’t stop to analyze that feeling and what it could be called. It was hardly important to him now, when there was so much more to discover and unearth in order to become his own person. 

_“Sergeant Barnes,”_ Stark’s AI suddenly spoke up. _“There are new clothes laid out in your room.”_

He blinked. “What?” 

_“New clothes,”_ J.A.R.V.I.S. repeated. 

“I heard that,” he retorted, frowning. “I thought Stark said he wasn’t… whatever he said he wasn’t.” 

_“Running a thrift store,”_ the AI supplied helpfully. _“He did say that, yes.”_ It sounded like J.A.R.V.I.S. was leaving something out – like that Stark had decided to gift him clothes after all and had put his AI up to the task of informing him instead of telling Bucky himself. _“Mr. Stark would also like to inform you that you can keep the underwear.”_

Bucky snorted and felt the right side of his mouth pull up. 

He got down from the counter, giving it a brief look. His fingers had ruined it, for sure, but he guessed J.A.R.V.I.S. had already informed Stark about it – or would inform him. The guy was loaded enough to buy a new one. 

Deciding that he should seize the opportunity and check out his new clothes while Stark was in a charitable mood, he wandered out into the hall and into the stairwell, going back to his own room. Like before, he didn’t meet a single person on the way there. It was as if the top floors were completely deserted. 

When he entered his small room – still much bigger than a broom closet, but small in comparison to Stark’s quarters – he found clothes neatly laid out on the bed. Someone must have come in, although Bucky hadn’t seen as much as a cleaning lady in the halls. He was also fairly certain J.A.R.V.I.S. was just a voice coming from the walls and not a physical being. That left Stark himself, or a very stealthy member of his staff. 

Bucky picked at the clothes. They were nothing special, but that was the idea: he would blend in; a pair of jeans, a hoodie, t-shirt, simple boxers and socks. He felt the boxers, just for the hell of it, and decided to stick to the pair he was wearing. Say what you will about the eccentric tastes of rich people, but he rather liked the material of Stark’s underwear. 

He got dressed in his new clothes, finding that they all fit him, and put the extra pair of underwear into a worn bag he had found. 

“Is there more breakfast available somewhere?” he asked then, feeling like he could eat some more. 

_“There are ingredients on the common floor,”_ J.A.R.V.I.S. replied promptly. 

“Lead the way,” Bucky accepted and followed J.A.R.V.I.S.’s verbal guidance a few floors down, to an area he imagined could be the center of the Avengers’ daily routines if they ever chose to stay here. As promised, there was food in the kitchen, and he helped himself to it generously. His brief freedom had taught him to be self-reliant and opportunistic, so he was going to take anything Stark was willing to provide. 

The thought halted him as his mind jumped back to last night and the memory of what, exactly, Stark had provided for him. It made him feel oddly warm in places that had never been necessary before, and he smiled a bit as he dug into the stack of waffles he had discovered in the fridge. 

 

 

_to be continued…_


	6. Routine Maintenance

****

## Chapter 6: Routine Maintenance

After eating in the common floor kitchen, Bucky looked at the time, decided his original clothes were still drying, and chose to go and see what Stark was doing, even though the other man had strongly implied his desire to be left alone. Bucky wasn’t sure whether or not to take that personally. He didn’t really care either way. 

The workshop walls were a transparent barrier between two worlds when he approached; the holographic screens that Stark seemed extremely fond of decorated the air. From where Bucky was watching, most of them seemed to blend together into incomprehensible combinations that were not quite art, but would probably pass for some if the right person looked at them. 

Bucky didn’t knock on the glass. He waited, instead, watching Stark move in the midst of his screens, gesturing with hands like an eloquent puppet-master. The screens changed without being directly touched, and Bucky found himself staring, like watching an exotic wild animal in a zoo. For Stark, this was no cage, however; he was going about his business in his natural habitat, by the looks of it. 

Minutes ticked by, and it must have been some kind of countdown because eventually Stark stilled, shifted his eyes to look directly at Bucky, and talked to him over the speakers: “What do you want?” 

“I was wondering if I would need to get naked again for you to notice me,” he replied – not that he had wondered it. The words made Stark frown, though – and the workshop door unlock. 

Bucky knew an invitation when he saw one and moved to the door, stepping through as it slid open. 

“What do you want?” Stark asked again. 

Bucky shrugged one shoulder – the taped one, because the metal arm, as firmly as it was connected to him, rarely felt like a _natural_ extension of himself. 

As always, Stark’s eyes began straying to his metal limb, and Bucky got an idea. He lifted his left hand and wriggled the fingers. Stark’s eyes widened like saucers as if he could no longer look at them without remembering how they felt around his dick – or in other places. “You should clean this up,” he informed the other man. There was no need to elaborate on how it may have gotten dirty, and in what way. 

Stark didn’t blush or stammer; he was completely at ease with the idea, by the looks of it, and nodded approvingly. It made Bucky wonder if he had ever wanted to do those things with one of his suits – or was going to, now that he had gotten a taste of it. “Sure. I wouldn’t mind taking another look at it while I’m at it,” Stark mused. 

Bucky didn’t protest. He didn’t particularly like the idea of someone touching his arm, but so far Stark hadn’t tried to trick him, hurt him, or use him, and Bucky felt like Stark was handling him like something precious and intriguing that he wanted to preserve and study. Well, his metal arm, at least. 

Once again Bucky sat down on a stool while Stark sat on another. There was no comment about Bucky wearing his new clothes or what had transpired less than a day ago in this very same room. Bucky’s mind didn’t get distracted by it, either; it was a pleasant memory, but he was occupied watching Stark fetch tools – some familiar, some new – before settling down and directing some of the lights so he could see better. 

“Lay your forearm on that table,” Stark instructed, and Bucky did, adjusting his stool height a little to make it the perfect height. 

Stark rolled over, looking at his arm, then rolled away and fetched a pair of glasses from another table. He slid them on and rolled back, eyes already trained on Bucky’s arm. He went to work briskly and thoroughly, with tools he may have used to clean up his armor. It was slow and very effective, getting into every little groove, with pressured air and what looked like water but smelled a little different, and various tools designed just for this by the feel of it. 

Bucky kept an eye on the progress, moving his arm whenever Stark told him to, but in the end he began looking at Stark himself, relaxing as the other worked and there was not even a single hint of pain from the procedure. 

The glasses, he noticed, looked a lot like normal glasses; he hadn’t noticed Stark wearing a pair before, so he didn’t think his eyesight was bad. His eyes looked larger through the lenses, which led Bucky to imagine they had a magnifying effect. It also looked like tiny flickers of color danced across the lenses, so perhaps the glasses worked like one of Tony’s holographic screens, giving him additional information on what he was doing, seeing as he didn’t actively talk to J.A.R.V.I.S. 

Stark’s hands were firm yet gentle as he worked, not tugging or forcibly pulling as he coerced Bucky to move nonverbally. He didn’t stop or hesitate, and his fingers always found the right tool on the table beside him. His expression was one of concentration, without any tension, relaxing into the calm, efficient pace faster than Bucky did. 

Truthfully, it was the best maintenance Bucky could remember. Hell, he didn’t have to remember – he knew it in his gut. 

After cleaning every square inch of his arm, Stark moved onto more intrusive work. Still there was no pain, no haste, like Stark was truly enjoying this and taking pride in his ability to do this for Bucky, even when he was clearly doing it for his own benefit, too. 

When Stark was digging in, lifting the surface panels and poking in with various tools, he occasionally asked Bucky if he could feel something – pain, tension or tickling. One-word answers were usually fine, or just grunting. It wasn’t that Bucky didn’t want to participate, he just wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be a part of this phase, even when the arm was part of his body. Maybe this was the first time the person working on his arm wanted his input. 

“Okay,” Stark said, many hours after Bucky’s laundry had dried and normal people would have paused to eat, drink or go to the bathroom, “I think we’re done here.” 

Bucky sat up and rolled his arm. It wasn’t a huge difference to how it had been before, but the change was for the better. “Thanks,” he offered. 

“No problem,” Stark nodded and rolled back, taking off his glasses and putting away some of the tools before moving over to a small fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. There were various drinks inside, Bucky could see, and he perked up a bit. 

“Could I have a beer?” he asked. 

Stark gave him a look, then opened the door again and grabbed a bottle, tossing it to him. Bucky caught it, metal and glass clinking together when he used both hands to secure the bottle, his newly cleaned fingers easily prying the top off. Stark watched with poorly concealed fascination. 

Bucky tasted the beer, finding it acceptable, and Stark veered away, continuing with his previous project by the looks of it, summoning up several screens and babbling to J.A.R.V.I.S. in ever-increasing tempo as he went. It was fascinating, to be there and watch him, seeing as Stark seemed to have completely forgotten Bucky was there. Maybe working on his arm made Stark feel like Bucky didn’t exist, as a person, but only a hunk of meat attached to the piece of tech he liked. 

Seeing as he was content to sit there and drink his beer, Bucky didn’t hurry to remind Stark that there was another person in the room. 

 

 

_to be continued…_


	7. Stalling

****

## Chapter 7: Stalling

After three more beers – Bucky helped himself to Stark’s workshop fridge while the other man worked – Stark finally showed signs of slowing down. His eyes began darting towards Bucky more frequently, yet he didn’t tell him to leave or stop chugging down his beer. 

“Hungry?” Stark asked. 

“A little,” Bucky replied, although he had eaten plenty before and wasn’t famished just yet. However, he should eat while he still could do it for free. 

“J.A.R.V.I.S., order from that Chinese place I like.” 

_“Yes, sir.”_ The AI didn’t ask what Stark would like – just like Stark hadn’t asked whether Bucky liked Chinese. 

Far as he knew, Bucky had never eaten Chinese, but it was food and he wasn’t picky. 

Stark took another hour closing down his projects with a few more adjustments and orders to J.A.R.V.I.S., then went and washed his hands and cracked open another water bottle. He didn’t tell Bucky to pick up the empty beer bottles as he moved towards the door, waiting there for the other to catch up. 

In the elevator, Bucky assumed they would be headed for the common floor, but they went up instead, without a verbal command or a push of a button. They arrived on Stark’s floor, like last night, and there was a smell of food in the air. 

Bucky liked Chinese take-out just fine, he learned soon enough. 

Stark got them both a couple beers without asking. They sat and ate in the living room, the TV turned on with nothing truly interesting on it. The multiple bags and cartons the Invisible Member of Staff had delivered contained several small portions of various different foods, and Bucky made a point to try each of them – and then ate all that was left when Stark was finished and sat back on the couch, sipping the last of his second beer, eyes on the TV. 

Bucky wondered if this was a usual night in for Stark: work, take-out food, a couple beers. He wasn’t sure if that was a good routine in between saving the world, or a little sad, seeing as he hadn’t seen or heard a single other person besides J.A.R.V.I.S., and the AI wasn’t really a person to sit down with. 

“This is a big place for just one person,” he observed finally although he knew he shouldn’t care about that. 

Stark glanced at him, his expression revealing just how much he agreed with Bucky’s inner dialogue about not caring. “That really isn’t any of your business,” he said shortly, and Bucky knew not to ask about it again. Maybe it was a slow season – and it really wasn’t any of Bucky’s business. 

He remembered his clothes, which must be dry by now. The smart thing to do would have been to get up and leave – maybe say a word of thanks for the food, although Stark would just shrug and wave him off, or threaten to make him pay half the bill. The couch was comfortable, though, and he still had some of his beer left, plus Stark seemed enraptured by the stock market news on TV and Bucky wasn’t sure what it was about that that made him want to stay. 

There was time; he didn’t need to be anywhere. He could have another good night’s sleep, and then leave. If Stark hadn’t told anyone about his stay at the Tower by now, it was unlikely he would do it in the next twelve hours, either. 

“Want another beer?” Stark asked when he finished his own and Bucky had just a few sips left of his. The question was almost instantly followed by a long look directed at him, halting Bucky’s answer. “You’ve had six by now. They really did something to you, didn’t they? I don’t think you’re even a little drunk, plus you finished off all the food with admirable stamina. Reminds me of this guy we both know…” 

Bucky had an idea of whom he meant. “I could have another beer,” he answered, dismissing the rest. 

Stark got up and got Bucky his beer, pouring himself a glass of something much stronger. He settled down on the couch again, shifted a little to get into a comfortable position, then surfed the channels for a bit before ending up on some music channel, letting it play. 

Bucky opened his beer, twisted the cap in his metal grip, frowning at its mangled form before flipping it away. It was completely incidental that it hit Stark’s forehead and plunged down into his glass, floating there with the ice. 

Stark directed a scowl at him and Bucky decided not to apologize. The way Stark fished the cap from his drink looked like it wasn’t the first time, oddly enough. He tossed the cap onto the table and kept drinking, a frown on his face, although it could have been directed at the absolutely ridiculous music video playing on TV, with costumes that made real-life superheroes look very cool and collected – even Captain America’s star-spangled red-white-and-blue uniform. 

After it seemed the program was playing one ridiculous video after another, Stark reached for the remote and switched off the TV. “I should…” he started but stopped himself. 

“Go to bed?” Bucky guessed. It wasn’t late, yet, just a little after ten. 

Stark seemed to realize that as well, and he gave Bucky a searching look. “Wanna do something?” he asked, very casually like he was asking his friend for ideas on what to do. At the same time, last night still existed, and the possible double-connotation made Bucky hesitate. 

What did he want to do? 

He was a free man, so he could do anything – anything he liked. He had eaten Chinese, which he had liked; he’d had plenty of good beer. If he wanted it, he could have Stark, too, but the other man’s words were not a direct invitation to his bed and Bucky wondered if Stark himself knew what he wanted. 

“Maybe,” Bucky replied, considering that a safe middle-ground they could proceed from. 

“Did you have something in mind?” Stark questioned. 

“Did you?” Bucky shot back. 

A vibe was definitely there, and Bucky felt his body respond to it. Not overwhelmingly intense, but definitely a tight cord, vibrating and itching to be stroked, coaxed to grow… bad puns kind of intended, considering where Bucky wished this was going. 

Stark waited a few long seconds. It wasn’t hesitation, as far as Bucky could see; it was more like biding his time instead of rushing headlong into it, which didn’t seem like a characteristic thing for him to do but was probably a good idea, all things considered. “In the interest of not assuming too much and saving both parties possible embarrassment: we’re talking about sex, right?” 

Bucky was tempted to shrug, to not reveal his intentions just yet, but just as Stark said, it was in both their interest to know where this was headed. “Sure,” he replied, which was closest to a very casual, indifferent ‘yes’. 

Stark gave him a look but didn’t comment on his apparent reluctance. Maybe he saw through it, because they were both grown men and had already done this weird pre-sex dance thing the day before. “Okay,” Stark stated, a lot less eloquent than his usual responses went, which made Bucky feel like the other guy was imitating him. One of these days, he would punch him. He might even do Stark the favor of using his metal hand, seeing as he was so enamored by it… 

Bucky finished his beer while Stark put away the empty food cartons and used cutlery. That bought them both some time – not that they should have needed it, after everything, but when Stark returned to the couch, there was a bit more sway to his hips, and Bucky had decided he would get nowhere by being bashful – and _somewhere_ was where he wanted to go, so… 

“Bedroom?” Bucky suggested. The couch would do, but it seemed a little pointless when the bed was just in the other room. 

Stark raised him a teasing eyebrow, as if amused by his sudden forwardness, but he didn’t comment on it. “Time’s a wastin’,” he said instead, and Bucky stood up, agreeing more than Stark probably knew; he had stayed longer than he had intended, and any reminders of that made him feel restless. Still, he didn’t want to say ‘no’ to the chance of this – the last little thing that he could take just as selfishly as he wanted. 

A sign of his freedom. 

He reached out with his left hand, fingers curling around the back of Stark’s neck, pulling him closer. Their eyes met, and for a moment Bucky wasn’t sure what he was doing – what he had planned on doing when he pulled the other man in. However, when Stark leaned in, his fingers squeezed hard to stop him, just preventing the other’s lips from meeting his. 

Stark let out a huff of air with a strange little sound and dropped his face a little, his teeth digging into the flesh at the curve of Bucky’s cheek. “You really need to rein in those mixed signals,” he said then, leaning back and putting some distance between them. He couldn’t go far, though, because Bucky still had a hand on the back of his neck, Stark’s weight pressing against it. 

“Stop trying to read me,” Bucky told him. 

“I would need a fucking manual for that,” came an almost irritated reply. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be a genius?” 

Stark snorted then pulled against his hand again, but he was leaning towards the bedroom door so Bucky followed his lead, for now agreeing with Stark’s direction. 

The bedroom was dark when they entered it, but the lights came on low without prompting. It all looked the same as it had been the last time Bucky saw it, save for a change of sheets on the bed. That didn’t really interest him, though, and he shoved Stark onto the bed as soon as they were within its reach. The impact made the other man lose his breath for a moment, which gave Bucky time to land more gracefully on top of him, like a hunter approaching a defeated victim, ready for the final strike. 

Once again leaning in crossed his mind, and he saw Stark take notice, but then Bucky’s fingers curled against the sheets and Stark pursed his lips and looked at some spot near his shoulder, clearly fed up with something. 

Bucky ignored that; Stark being indifferent was better than the alternative of annoying commentary. He moved up, settling on his knees as he stripped off his hoodie and shirt. As expected, Stark’s eyes returned to him in a matter of seconds, taking in his left shoulder and the metal limb. His gaze wavered when Bucky reached down to undo his pants and yanked them as far as he could down his spread legs. He got his cock out, though, and gave it a few strokes, easing the tension he felt curling in his groin. 

Stark’s lips parted a little with a slow inhalation – like an invitation. Bucky would have liked to comply, to force his hard cock past them into the other man’s mouth and down his throat the way he knew Stark could take him, but there were other things he wanted – that they had done before – and he itched for another round of that gripping warmth he could plow into without fear of an accidental bite of teeth or a gag reflex kicking in. 

“Get your pants off,” Bucky growled and got up so that he could remove his own pants. Stark gave him a look and moved to comply, removing all his clothes while he was at it. Bucky didn’t complain or show that he preferred it either way, but pressing his body against Stark’s equally naked one sent a pleasant tremor through him. 

He was sure he could have enjoyed that simple contact for much longer, but he wanted more and his time was limited. So, to get from point A to point B, Bucky yanked on Stark’s shoulder and guided him to roll over onto his front, not giving him a chance to protest. 

Pushing down against Stark’s naked backside made Bucky’s dick jerk. He repeated the motion, grinding against the other man, a low growl working its way out of his throat. The swell of Stark’s ass was just right to rub his hard-on against, although he felt like some lubrication may have been in order to ease the way and make it even more pleasurable. 

Luckily, the tube of lube was still on the nightstand and not stashed away somewhere, so Bucky reached up to grab it. His metal fingers squeezed around it a bit too hard in his haste, the top popping open and squirting the slick substance all over Stark’s lower back, making the other man hiss. 

“That’s not how you apply it,” Stark noted, leaning up on one arm, looking at Bucky over his shoulder. 

Annoyed, Bucky dropped the mangled tube in favor of sinking his fingers into Stark’s hair. “Shut up,” he muttered and shoved his face down into the covers. Shifting to the side, he ran his right hand across the slick mess that was already spreading as Stark made a show of struggling in his grip. His movements were not enough to remove Bucky’s iron hold, and after coating his cock with the unpleasantly cool lubricant, he reached out and coaxed most of the substance towards Stark’s ass, making it drip between his buttocks. 

By the time his fingers made it to the muscled orifice, the crack of Stark’s ass was more than sufficiently slick to let him slide a finger in, then another. Stark twitched, his knees braced against the mattress, elevating his hips. Bucky worked a third finger inside with more force than probably should have been necessary. Stark groaned in response to it, his body clamping down against Bucky’s digits, and he eased the pace a little, shifting to drag his wet cock against the other man’s flank to ease his desire to proceed. 

Waiting didn’t sit well with him, though – not when he already felt like he was dragging his feet about leaving the relative safety of Stark’s Tower. He was getting careless and carelessness opened a door for the enemy to get to him – whoever the enemy was these days. He had stayed under the radar since D.C. and wasn’t about to compromise that for a few hours of pleasure… 

That was the core of the problem, though: he was free, so he could have all the pleasure he wanted – when he wanted. Stark was groaning into the bedspread, body tight around his fingers, and he stubbornly held onto this chance to have a taste of it, even if it would cost him extra time. 

He had already stayed for a day so what did a few more hours matter, anyway? 

Deciding to move things along even though he could spare a moment, Bucky pulled his fingers out and cleaned off most of the lube onto the covers between Stark’s legs, then moved himself behind the man, forcing Stark’s thighs further apart with his legs while still leaning over him, keeping his head down. He knew the other man would be struggling a lot more if he wanted to get out of the hold. Hell, it was possible Stark was getting off on the metal hand holding him down, and seeing as that didn’t hamper Bucky’s own pleasure in any way, he just grabbed his cock and lined it up with the slick hole, pushing in. 

A tense heat was immediately around him and he pushed into it greedily even when he registered the pained edge in Stark’s next groan. There was plenty of lube to ease the way, though, and Bucky’s hips shoved his dick the rest of the way in; he figured it wasn’t going to get any easier even if he stopped to wait. 

He did wait once he was fully inside, though, because the grip around his length was beginning to border on painful and Stark’s groans had transformed into sharp breaths loudly exhaled into the covers. 

“Come on,” Bucky murmured, sliding his right hand up Stark’s flank and over to the lube-and-sweat-slick small of his back, rubbing his fingers into the tense muscles there. His metal hand released its grip a little, sliding from his hair to the back of Stark’s neck, squeezing lightly. 

Stark fell silent, fingers losing their grip on the sheets that Bucky hadn’t noticed before. All the while Stark’s lower body stayed still, up until the death-grip on Bucky’s dick began to lessen and allowed him to shift back and forth in small circles that definitely felt better than staying still. 

As he found his tempo, withdrawing a little further, Stark straightened his arms above him and pressed his face into his right bicep. He started making small sounds again, at every inwards push, and Bucky’s squeezed the fingers of his left hand some more and tried to fit them around Stark’s throat, holding but not making it impossible for him to breathe. 

His whole body began to get into the forward motion, a warm tide rising within him. He knew he could go faster, but that would make it all end faster, too. That knowledge made him hesitate: a part of him wanted to get this over with so that he could follow his instinct and _leave_ ; another part was very keen on the idea of making his pleasure last longer. 

It was the latter that prevailed, making him lean his weight on Stark and force him to lie down, his thrusts slowing down. His metal hand slid up to Stark’s hair again, tugging lightly, and he mouthed his shoulder, tasting the salt of sweat. Stark’s next groan became a moan and he arched a little beneath him, clearly enjoying the change of pace and the angle of Bucky’s thrusts. It seemed to make Bucky’s motions easier, his passage smoother, and he enjoyed every inch of it, slowly sliding back and forth, Stark’s little shifts delivering an extra spark down his spine. 

His rhythm became more languid. Each thrust, each openmouthed touch of his lips against Stark’s back… It was calmer, yet made him feel a little shaky, as if he had been at it for hours and his body was getting exhausted. He was not weary – not even close – and he tried ordering his body to stop it, which soon started distracting his rhythm so much that Stark noticed. 

“What are you doing?” the other man asked, shifting beneath him and started looking back over his shoulder. 

“Shut up,” Bucky muttered and pushed the other man’s head into the sheets. “I’m fine,” he added. His outburst made the shaky feeling stop and he shoved his dick into Stark with a vengeance, banishing the last tendrils of lethargy from his body. It felt like he had allowed his guard to drop and it made him uneasy that it could happen so easily and without his notice. 

As he proceeded to fuck the other man harder, tuning out the harsh breaths he forced out of Stark’s lungs while he still pressed him down, he began to notice a few crucial differences; he was getting off faster, no doubt about that, but it didn’t feel as good as before. It was as if the lazy pace had been comfortable and more fulfilling, and anything else felt like rushing. 

Rushing was never good. It left room for slip ups that could turn into actual mistakes, and his allowance for mistakes had been low. Even as a free man, he knew he could not afford to make many, and so he forced himself to slow down again. 

Stark groaned and Bucky was tempted to ask what his problem was this time, but no other comment came as he continued at a more languid pace, enjoying the in-and-out motion and the grip of the other man’s body every time he brushed past that spot that seemed to make all the difference for Stark. 

Bucky let go of the pressing sense of rushing and leaned down again, draping his body over Stark’s. He could smell him, salty sweat and metal, and a faint sweetness of something that reminded him of some distant ghost of a mission he must have been on… Then, beneath it all, seemed to lie a layer of brimstone, hot and pulsing along his length where they were connected. He smelled no smoke, but the heat of it was beneath his lips and teeth as he kissed and bit Stark’s shoulder blade near his spine, a fire rising towards him when he pressed his teeth into the flesh. 

He released the hold his teeth had on Stark’s back and brushed his nose against the indentations left in the skin. The spot appeared warmer than its surroundings, and for a brief second his eyes seemed to detect an angry splash of red before it vanished, leaving only his mark. 

“Don’t do that,” Stark told him. 

“Why?” Bucky asked, because certainly other people would have asked, too. 

“Because I said so – and because I’m not going to pay for the reconstruction of your face,” he added, sounding like he couldn’t resist. 

Bucky frowned and itched to bite him again, just to see whether it had been his mind playing tricks on him, but instead he bowed his head and kissed the bite mark, then swept his tongue over it. No blood. 

Stark shuddered and bucked his ass, so Bucky moved his right arm to Stark’s hip, got up on his knees and yanked the other man’s body along with his, keeping himself firmly inside as he changed the angle. Stark shifted his legs, trying to brace himself as Bucky went on thrusting into him, his pace still slow and deep, and soon enough Stark found his balance and countered his every forward motion. Bucky’s hold on his hip ensured it didn’t get too fast, yet the slow pace was doing only so much to keep the burning edge of his release at bay forever. 

He shifted his left arm, bracing it against the bed, fingers curling into the sheets and the mattress below. The closer to the finish line he got, the more he had a taste for it, but once he got there… it would be over. He had made up his mind about leaving, and as soon as he shot his load, he would be out of this bed and the Tower. 

His cock twitched but he wasn’t convinced it knew what was going to happen; out there, something like this wasn’t an option. Even fooling around with Stark may have been a mistake, and he had already found it threatened to leave him vulnerable. Outside these walls, he could not risk it. 

Not even if he was a free man and could do what he wanted. There was a fine line between stupidity and bravery, after all. 

Stark’s breaths were getting louder and he turned his head, leaning his face against Bucky’s metal forearm. Had it been skin and bone, he could have felt his hot exhalations and his tongue wetting his lips, so close that it actually dragged against the metal. If Bucky felt vulnerable, Stark was even more so, but he hadn’t seemed concerned. Perhaps it was the illusion of safety inside the Tower and the presence of his AI – or perhaps it came from that faint odor of brimstone and the fire beneath his skin, a heat which he hadn’t felt the first time but which seemed to be pooling in Stark’s groin now and warming Bucky’s cock at the same time. 

Or maybe he imagined the heat as he got closer to his own climax, thrusts getting a little faster, shallower. Stark was clearly trying to keep himself quiet and Bucky moved to help him, sinking his left forearm onto the bedding in order to turn his palm up. Whether Stark saw the offer and accepted it or merely nuzzled into his hand, he didn’t know, but he slowly closed his fingers against his face, making sure not to squeeze too much; he knew he could break a human skull and fracturing a jaw didn’t take nearly as much force. 

He moved harder, body draping against Stark’s again as if wanting to be closer to him, and the heat spread from Stark’s groin to his and onwards, flaring up for a moment until pumping out through his shaft and into the sudden clamp of Stark’s body, as if the man knew he was coming. 

Distantly he thought that perhaps he felt the pressure of Stark’s teeth on the metal of his palm, and his thumb stroked his skin as he breathed hard through the last pumps of his hips and then drew back, dragging Stark up with him as he sat on his haunches. His hand still clamped down on Stark’s face, muffling the startled breath, and then he reached around the other man’s body with his right hand, finding his hard cock. 

It felt like the first time touching Stark with his real hand. He could feel a wetness on his fingers, the frequent beat of his pulse jerking the firm flesh, and he slid his hand over it, again and again, until Stark’s body tightened against him and he came with an exclamation muffled into the metal, nostrils flaring above the grip. 

Bucky eased the hold of both his hands but didn’t let go just yet. As long as he didn’t, he could still pretend it wasn’t over – that he didn’t need to start packing. 

Stark slumped against him heavily and Bucky sat still, leaning his face on Stark’s shoulder, breathing him in. Not an unpleasant smell, but not something to stir a memory within him, either. He liked that. It meant that this memory was his and his alone and didn’t belong to the ghost life of James Buchanan Barnes. He would hold onto this. 

Stark’s breaths slowed down and stirred Bucky out of his musings. For a second he wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the other man was asleep in his arms, despite the awkward seated position. 

Bucky moved slowly, removing his hands from Stark’s face and spent cock. He wiped his right hand on the sheets and told himself to get up and leave. Instead he lay back, Stark’s body following the motion. The change in position made the other man stir, but just enough for him to roll to the side, off Bucky’s body. He looked content and tired, completely unafraid of Bucky’s presence. 

An illusion of safety… 

Bucky supposed he could share in that illusion for a few more hours and take a nap before leaving. That way he would be well-rested on the road. 

Content with his decision, he shifted around to wrap half the sheets over his body, then took pity on the other man and arranged them so that Stark was covered as well. He got a muttered complaint for all the jostling but nothing more than that, and the warmth of Stark’s naked body in front of him was like a barrier, tricking him into fall asleep faster than usual. 

 

 

_to be continued…_


	8. Decamp

****

## Chapter 8: Decamp

Four hours after falling asleep beside Stark’s spent body, Bucky extracted himself from the sheets and collected his clothing. He would go to his own room, shower and get the rest of his things, then leave before sunrise. 

He halted in the doorway of Stark’s bedroom, looking back at the man. The sheets were no longer covering him after Bucky’s escape and with a small scowl, Bucky went back to the bed and lifted the sheets back in place. It was ridiculous and he knew that, but Stark would sleep longer if he didn’t get cold so it was rational to aid that cause and keep him from drawing out Bucky’s departure. 

While he was there, he took notice of Stark’s phone on the nightstand – that and his wallet. 

Deciding that he needed money, he picked up the leather wallet and browsed through it, finding more cash than he had thought likely with one such as Tony Stark. He took the money and put down the wallet, then shifted his hand and grabbed his phone, too, supposing that he could use it at least once before dumping it. 

He turned, stashing his findings in his pants pocket, then gave the sleeping man one last look. He could break his neck and not have anyone know he had been here, but there was no real heat behind that thought. 

Still, to figure out if he wanted to do that after all, to cover his tracks, he reached out with his left hand and allowed it to hover over the relaxed face, tracing the now-familiar features before softly brushing against his lips. 

_No_ , he decided. He wouldn’t kill him. Not unless he became a problem. Stark had given him many lessons during his stay and had helped Bucky discover parts of himself he wouldn’t otherwise have gotten to know for a long time to come. He wouldn’t go as far as to say he was in the other man’s debt, but killing him didn’t appeal to him. 

Moving his hand back, he took a step to leave, already taking inventory of all the things he needed to pack before he left – then backpedaled and turned towards the bed again, staring intently at Stark’s face. 

That thing he had thought to do before, but hadn’t… it was clear in his mind now. And, just like he had been trained, thought became action before his body was consciously aware of it and he leaned down, pressing his lips against Stark’s, soft and careful not to wake the other man up. 

Baffled, he straightened again, frowning deeply. It eluded him, the real reasoning behind the action, so he eventually let it go with a shrug and walked out, not looking back this time. 

* * *

The sun was coming up as he walked across the Brooklyn Bridge Promenade. There were only a few other people around, cars driving past him on both sides. A few seagulls lazily hung in the air, barely flapping their wings at all. 

In the relative silence, the buzz of the phone in his pocket was loud, and his hand instantly grabbed for it as if it were going to reveal his position to the enemy. His eyes scanned the screen and the text announcing an ‘incoming call’. 

Suspicious, he slid a finger of his right hand across the screen to accept the call. 

_“So,”_ Stark’s voice greeted him before he had to come up with something to say, _“you steal my lunch money and disappear into the night,”_ the man stated snidely. 

“At least I didn’t beat you up before I did,” he retorted. 

_“I also hope you realize that you stole_ my _phone; I can track it anywhere you go.”_

Of course he had known that, but he had still taken it. He had half a mind to toss it over the side of the bridge and let Stark fish it out of the East River. Instead, he selected another reply: “That was the point.” 

Stark hesitated for a moment. _“Good,”_ he decided then, and instantly continued: _“Are we still not telling Rogers about this?”_

“Do _you_ want to tell Rogers about this?” Bucky wasn’t talking about his visit but the other things that had happened. 

_“He doesn’t need to know,”_ Stark decided. 

“That’s what I thought,” Bucky hummed and kept walking. Stark didn’t ask where he was going to go. He didn’t need to, seeing as he could track his phone. The idea made Bucky uneasy, but he still held onto the device instead of throwing it over the side of the bridge. “Thanks,” he finally grumbled. “For… whatever.” 

_“Whatever? Is that what we’re calling it now – or is that what you were calling it back then?”_ Stark huffed back. 

“Shut up,” he snapped. “I’m getting tired of this conversation.” 

_“You’re welcome,”_ Stark told him swiftly, as if sensing Bucky was going to hang up on him. _“I would tell you to stay out of trouble but I would be wasting my breath, right?”_

“Right.” 

_“Okay,”_ he said, sickeningly chipper. _“Keep in touch, if you feel the need. You can use this number: it will route through J.A.R.V.I.S. and keep your call nice and private.”_

“Why would I call?” Bucky asked, trying to sound like he couldn’t think of a single reason why. 

Stark chuckled and hung up. 

Bucky lowered the phone from his ear and checked the screen. He could see a number now, more complex than a usual phone number. He pressed it to save it, and after a brief debate wrote ‘TONY’ as a contact name. 

Pocketing the phone, he resumed walking, the sun warm on his face as it climbed higher in the sky. Near the end of the bridge he turned briefly to look back towards Manhattan, fairly certain he could see Avengers Tower’s windows glittering in the sunlight – then a stream of red and gold shooting up towards the brightening sky until his eyes could no longer follow it. 

He turned and kept on walking, with no actual goal in mind, but he was surprisingly fine with that. For a little bit back there, he had been who he wanted to be, and that felt good. All he had to do now was keep at it, and keep knocking down the walls in his mind, and eventually, he would be his own man again. 

 

 

****

#### The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some may notice I posted this early... I hope you enjoyed the story!
> 
> (For more news & stuff, visit: [NEWS!](http://delrion-news.tumblr.com), [fic archive directory](http://delrion.tumblr.com), [Twitter](http://twitter.com/delrion).)


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